Better Thee Than Me
by Gatherer
Summary: Gathering. AU in key events. Methoscentric, but everyone from movies and series plus a few OC. Disclaimer: I did not invent any part of the Highlander universe, I merely warp it. Rated for language, gore. Now complete.
1. Prelude

Part 1 Prelude

Methos looked out of his hotel window at a scene not too different from one of the earliest of his clear memories. It had a different name then, and certainly a different role. Now it was the Holy City . . . the city on a hill . . . Jerusalem.

Perhaps the most prized and bloody city in human history was to see yet another battle, much quieter, held in the shadows but potentially as important as any before. Far too many people were aware something untoward was going on, but only a handful outside of the participants and their designated observers knew the whole truth. The Gathering.

Methos wasn't happy about the location for the end of the world, or at least the end of the immortal world. It suggested to the gullible that Divine forces were at work, forces Methos had distrusted for millennia. Even now, his roommates were working themselves into a frenzy about the meaning of the Gathering in Jerusalem.

The two were annoying enough by themselves, together they set his teeth on edge and, on this topic, they had driven him to the edge. The ledge of the balcony to the room, _his _room these children had waltzed into as if they owned it. "I'm paying for this room and that view you're so enjoying, Methos, at least you could pretend to be a good host."

The younger one, more earnest and therefore even more irritating that his older 'brother.' "I am being a good host, MacLeod. I'm out here instead of in there telling you two infants how foolish you sound." Methos dragged himself back in to take his medicine.

"So, your ancient wisdom says it's just a coincidence that the city most closely identified with G-d happens to be where we've all been pulled." The Highlander – that's how Methos identified Connor MacLeod – was even less respectful of his ancient wisdom than their mutual acquaintance.

"Closely identified with G-d, closely identified with war and death," Methos retorted. "Or are those the same thing"? The two boys -- less than 1000 years old between them for . . . goodness sake -- glared at him.

"All right," Methos raised his hands to forestall dual diatribes, "perhaps the place of the Gathering had to be one which has shared history with our kind and be one known to all immortals. Perhaps the most quickenings have been taken here and that energy is what reeled us in. "Perhaps . . . "

Methos stopped himself. In another of the fits of pique he had suffered since first feeling the pull of a Gathering he didn't believe in, he had almost shared the theory put forward by Jerusalem's resident ancient immortal. And that was someone whose existence he didn't yet wish to reveal to the brothers prim.

"Yes, old man? Was there something more or has senility finally caught up with you?"

"No, MacLeod, exasperation has. Since we're all going to be dead in a few days anyway, there has to be something better to do than listening to the two of you. Like drinking."

"On my money, no doubt."

"Are you saving it for a rainy day, MacLeod? Because unless it rains very hard for a very long time, you're not going to have any need for it very soon."

"Thanks for showing so much confidence in me, _friend_."

"Come on MacLeod, they're all here. The best and worst of our kind over thousands of years. Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. We all die." The last word was punctuated in the tone Methos used when informing you what 5000 years of experience said about the situation.

Connor MacLeod was unfazed. "Speak for yourself, old man, I survived one Gathering and I'll survive this one. Duncan, too. Even you, if you like."

"You barely survived a 'Gathering' that existed only in your mind. This is the real thing. Everyone left is capable of taking your head on your best day."

"And the reverse is true, as well. There's no one better than the Kurgan and I've already beaten him once. I can do it again."

The three men pondered Connor's near-miss with the Kurgan and the even odder story of how he had believed they were the last two.

end part 1


	2. They're alive, ALIVE!

Part 2 They're alive, ALIVE!

Begin Highlander-style flashback

Connor had been in a daze for weeks, as memories came sharp and unbidden. Two more friends, one an immortal, had been killed in the past month. It had long passed the point of coincidence, someone was clearly intent on destroying all those around him. And the length of time involved meant it was another immortal. But who would wait so long to come for his head?

When he felt the pulse of another quickening, he could barely see straight, much less fight. The identity of the man was yet one more shock. Fasil. Not a friend, but not someone he had considered a major enemy. And pursuing him in such a public area! Could he be the tormentor? Or had he just lost his mind?

The Highlander's thoughts raced in circles until the moment he lost his katana. Then, fortunately for the continuity of his neck, his head cleared and he was able to ponder how to stay alive. But in the moment before he ended Fasil's existence, staring at him, all his questions came rushing back. What was going on?

The quickening providing the answers. Or at least one set of answers. Fasil had not been the tormentor. But he had been acting rashly, because he believed it was the time of the Gathering. A few months earlier, Fasil had killed two immortals planning to travel to New York at the same time. Curious, he investigated the plans of other known immortals, taking heads when necessary. He found more plans to travel to New York. At some point, Fasil became convinced the Gathering was nigh and went on a killing spree to boost his power and thin the competition.

The quickening of a veteran immortal was always a confusing event. Memories, sensations, attitudes hardened over centuries and not your own. The possibility of the Gathering left the Highlander's brain still more scrambled. Were his feelings of grief and despair more than they seemed? Living in New York already, what was he supposed to feel if the Gathering was here?

As was often the case with Connor Macleod, inconclusive facts gave way to raw feelings. The Highlander was tired of life as it had been well over four centuries. He was ready to fight and he was ready to die. It was the Gathering.

Meeting his old friend Kastagir on a bridge was therefore no surprise and no coincidence. The two laughed raucously about the past, apparently avoiding the obvious topic before them. When the Kurgan appeared in a church, looking for Connor's head and the Prize, they weren't merely words the Kurgan would have used at any time -- this was it.

The Highlander's feeling of urgency led him into the arms of a woman, foolishly putting her in danger which could have been avoided. The mistake, however, may have saved his life, as her peril strengthened him against the Kurgan and her timely interference gave him the second chance he needed.

Then things got weird.

He had gravely wounded the Kurgan. The mutual stare communicated that they both knew it was over. The Kurgan gathered himself to charge, to die the way he lived. But something possessed Connor to ask about his brother. Fasil hadn't killed him. Kastagir wouldn't have, and would have said something if he had known of Duncan's death. So Duncan's quickening had to be with the Kurgan.

"Who killed my brother? Was it you?" Connor was barely whispering. Immortal history pivoted on the response.

"Your brother?" The Kurgan was genuinely puzzled, and he wasn't inclined to lying.

"Duncan Macleod, you imbecile!"

"Never heard of him." The Kurgan nodded to himself – so this was why the Highlander had been able to defeat him. It wasn't this ridiculous mortal woman at all, he was avenging his brother. Or he was crazy, which was even better. The Kurgan liked crazy.

"Liar!" shouted Connor. "It wasn't Fasil and it wasn't Kastagir. And we're the only ones left!"

The Kurgan had shifted from determination to confusion, now he moved to mirth. "The only ones left? You think this is the Gathering?" The booming laughter of a large, not entirely stable man echoed through the chamber. "Be glad your blade is keener than your wits, Highlander." More spasms of laughter.

Connor was unmoved. It was a trick, it had to be. Except the Kurgan didn't bother with tricks and he was making no attempt even to hold his sword. The laughter continued until MacLeod put his blade at the Kurgan's neck.

"Take my head, Highlander. You will learn nothing of your precious brother but perhaps you will gain enough wisdom to see how blind you have been." The Kurgan pressed himself against Connor's sword, drawing streams of blood. "Remember, though, that you cheated. Without her aid," he gestured contemptuously, "you would have died ignorant."

Against any other opponent, Connor would not have hesitated. It would have been a lie, a ruse, and it would have failed. But not with this opponent, and not when the Kurgan was making no effort to stay alive. Connor held steady, nonetheless, "She was only here because you used her to gain an advantage against me."

"To bring you to battle after all these years, no more."

"And if I let you go, a fair fight? She goes free?"

"As you wish. But I haven't laughed like this for decades. It seems fitting I promise you safety from me until the Gathering. The true Gathering."

"Not good enough. You are a murderer and," Connor faltered, "a rapist. I will not allow you to harm any more mortals."

"You're a fool, Highlander, wasting your time protecting them. Even when you thought you had the Prize in your grasp."

"The fool has his sword at your throat, Kurgan. Vow you will harm no more mortals or you die here."

At this, the Kurgan's good humor vanished. He looked as though he had swallowed his own bath water, a truly unpleasant thought. But to live was to have a chance at the Prize, after which all things were possible. "Until the Gathering, Highlander."

"Not good enough, Kurgan. Until the Prize itself is at stake. And you will not raise your sword against Duncan, either."

"So be it."

end flashback

"You had the Kurgan beaten and you let him go. In 5000 years, I have never heard of anything more stupid."

The Highlander growled, "It was an unfair fight. And he has kept his word – he has not harmed a single mortal since."

"You survived BECAUSE it was unfair! And now the Kurgan is here to take our heads, win the prize, and do things to mortals you've never imagined in your wildest dreams."

The younger Macleod moved to interject, but Methos held his hand up. "Spare me, Duncan, this was even worse than what you did with Grayson. Grayson is beatable, I'm not sure the Kurgan is."

"I only defeated Grayson because I fooled him into thinking I was helpless. It wasn't right to take his head on a deception. I remembered what Connor had done and it seemed like the right thing to let him go in exchange for the same promise."

"You Scots and your honor will be the death of me. Literally. And what about Haresh Clay? I tell you to live, to go stronger and you refuse to take Haresh Clay's head. Think of the power and knowledge you would have gained. And that fight was completely fair!" Methos was working himself up.

"He was stricken with grief, just as I would have been. I was there to protect Richie, not to 'grow stronger.'

"And now Clay's here to kill Richie. Or didn't you think about that?" It was a low blow, Methos realized immediately. Duncan was still recovering from the belief that he himself had killed Richie, under Ahriman's influence.

Now Connor interceded on behalf of his brother. "You're supposed to be his friend. Though I'm not convinced you have any real friends, Methos."

Methos paused. Ahriman couldn't act directly against Richie because the boy's heart was too pure. But he could use Richie as a tool against Duncan. He had tricked Duncan into thinking he killed Richie, tricked the authorities as well, and tricked Richie into an extended wild goose chase first by making it seem Horton had Dawson as his prisoner, then by showing Richie a crazed Macleod.

When Duncan defeated the demon, Richie finally had been freed from his illusion. He contacted Joe, who told him the whole story. Contemplating Duncan's sword at his throat a second time, even in an illusion, had been too much for the youngster and he left permanently, leaving Dawson the unenviable task of informing Duncan.

Since then, Richie had taken to practicing with Kamir, an Indian immortal extremely adept in weaponless combat. Duncan had almost taken his head in a dispute over a statue but Richie had intervened on Kamir's behalf. As far as Duncan was concerned, Kamir was close to insane, imagining himself to be a god. The time Richie spent with him disturbed Duncan nearly as much as Ahriman's plot.

The Highlander, the original Highlander, wasn't done with Methos. "And who should we blame if your Horsemen friends show up here, hmm?"

Flashback time

Kronos was satisfied. Caspian was dead but Cassandra would soon be dead, as well. Her headless body and the presence of Methos and Silas would turn this fight in his favor and he would finally get Macleod. They could recruit a new Horseman, one more reliable than the cannibal. They would be four again, follow Methos' plan and unleash the virus. The Horseman would rule the silicon age as they ruled the bronze age.

The sound of clashing metal was the first blow to Kronos' confidence. How had Cassandra gotten a sword? Had Methos given in to his guilt and insisted on a fair fight?

The sight of Silas and Methos dueling was out of Kronos' worst nightmare. And Methos wasn't merely holding off Silas to let Cassandra escape. Kronos recognized a Methos fighting to win. It would be over, and soon.

There had been no quickening earlier – Cassandra was still alive. Even if Kronos did take Macleod's head, she would be there to take his a moment later. Methos might not be willing to kill a helpless Kronos, but he wouldn't stop Cassandra from doing it. Cassandra might even take Methos' head during Silas' quickening and Kronos' during MacLeod's, completing her revenge while becoming the most powerful immortal alive.

That could not be allowed. Macleod was as distracted as he, allowing Kronos to turn his attention to Methos. Dripping scorn, "You will pay for this, brother." Methos was close to finishing off Silas but he could hear him. And he would remember after the quickening. "I know you – you've planned this from the beginning and taken the virus already. But I created it, and can do so again. This is not over."

Silas was disarmed now, on his knees, staring in confusion back and forth from Methos to Kronos. Tears came unwanted to Kronos' eyes and he choked back a sob. "Silas. I'm . . . I'm sorry. I will remember you, my true brother. And I promise you will be avenged."

Kronos turned back, finding MacLeod grinning. If possible, this infuriated him even further. "And this I promise you, _boy_: You will see Cassandra dead before I kill you as well." With that, Kronos did a very rare thing – he ran. As he gained more distance from his enemies, he reflected that at least one thing had gone well. He hadn't done anything idiotic like yelling "I am the end of time!"

At first, Macleod moved to pursue Kronos, but the sight of Cassandra distracted him. Joy at confirming she was alive was replaced almost instantly by fear. She would take Methos' head during Silas' quickening and ruin everything. They had won, even though Kronos would escape. The loss of Methos would turn victory into disaster.

Methos was ahead of everyone. He offered his hand to Silas and helped him off the ground. "Go, brother. I fought only so there would be no more killing. With Kronos gone, there is no need for anyone else to die."

The confusion on Silas' face only intensified. A moment after holding his sword to his throat, Methos placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry for bringing you back into this ugly world, brother. Go back to your woods and live in peace."

As Silas took his first steps, however, Cassandra blocked his path. She had his axe, holding it steadily despite its size. Her body, however, was quivering with rage and frustration. "Neither of you are leaving here with your heads!"

Methos advanced on her swiftly, with the Ivanhoe leading. He locked it with the axe. "Silas never harmed you. He leaves and you and I settle this alone." Her answer was to swing the axe at his head. She was shockingly fast but Methos was hardly surprised. He parried carefully, and spoke to Silas without removing his eyes from Cassandra. "Go now, brother. You need not worry for me."

Silas left slowly, with his eyes on Methos. Macleod let him leave – if he wasn't going to chase Kronos, he certainly wasn't going to chase Silas.

Duncan made his way casually toward the fight. Methos had made no attempt to attack Cassandra, merely guarding himself. And while Cassandra swung Silas' huge axe ferociously, it wasn't her weapon. Methos was in no danger.

As Macleod approached, Cassandra turned to him, "You can't interfere."

"I'm not going to, Cassandra. But if you kill Methos, Kronos wins." She stared at him. "Think about it. Methos set this whole thing up. He set it up so that he'd stop Kronos from using the virus, so that I could kill Caspian . . . so that you would live."

The fire still burned in Cassandra's eyes, "You have no idea what HE IS!"

"What he was, Cassandra. What he is now is someone that fought his friend," Macleod would not say 'brother', "so that you could keep your head. And also saved countless innocent lives."

"Fine! I can't take his head with this thing anyway." She threw the axe at Methos, who was surprised this time and barely got out of the way. "But I'll be back for you, Horseman." She stalked off, ignoring Duncan's pleas.

Macleod turned to the man who was again his friend, "We won."

Methos looked at him. "Did we? Kronos escaped and I may have let Silas go right back to him. Not to mention the fact that she now knows where I am."

"Caspian's dead, and the Four Horsemen with him," Macleod replied. "You stopped Kronos. And she'll come to see that you've changed."

"Hmmph."

end flashback

end part 2


	3. Kell, too

Part 3 Kell, too

Back at the Jerusalem hotel room, present day.

"I suppose it would be too much to ask that, of those three, only Silas is here," Methos mused.

"She's my friend, Methos. And she's stayed away from you just like I said she would."

"Just working on her powers, Macleod."

Connor stepped in again, "I hate to agree with the old man, Duncan, but I worry about her, too. This voice business you've told me about and it seems she has other abilities. She could be a tough opponent, and she doesn't seem entirely rational. She reminds me of Kane."

Methos blew out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding, "At least you got rid of that bastard, Highlander."

"Mmmm, well . . ."

"What!" "Oh, for Pete's sake!" came from his two companions.

"You told me he was dead, Connor," Duncan was practically shouting.

"No, I told you he was gone."

"And what does that mean?" This was Methos.

"Gone, as in can't possibly return. Except the Gathering seemed like a very difficult force to resist. Maybe it killed him. Or maybe . . ."

The two other men glared.

"Or maybe he found some way to tap into that force and escape. He did have mystical abilities, you know."

"Yes, we know! That's why it was such a relief that he was dead. Oh, I'm sorry, I mean 'gone'." Connor had expected this from Methos but was taken aback at Duncan's vehemence.

Not that Methos wasn't helping. "The Kurgan AND Kane. Maybe the two most deadly immortals ever and they're both here. And you . . . " He turned to Macleod. "Clay and Grayson, two of the best swordsmen ever."

"You're not innocent, Methos, with Kronos and Silas on your card."

"They're not as dangerous as the ones you two have let slip through your fingers."

"They are if they work together!"

The three were now all practically nose to nose spitting at each other. There was a moment of outraged silence. Then Connor's trademark little laugh broke the tension, "So who takes the blame for Kell?" he chuckled.

"I could have gone all day without hearing that name, Connor," Duncan murmured, but he smiled.

Methos just put his head in his hands, "Oh yes, let's not forget Kell."

Flashback

It was a strange scene, even by the standards of immortals. Connor was stalking his brother all over the rooftop, demanding that Duncan take his head and threatening to kill Duncan if he didn't. Finally, the older man had convinced the younger that Duncan had to be the one to carry on the fight and they said their goodbyes.

At that moment, however, a strong buzz hit them both.

"It's Kell, Duncan! You must do it now!"

"No, he doesn't play by the rules!"

"That's why you need my power with you."

"You don't understand, Connor, your quickening would take too long for me to absorb. Kell will kill me while I'm down."

Connor Macleod was sick of life, but he could not avoid the truth in Duncan's words. He separated himself from his brother and turned in the direction of the one door to the roof. Duncan let out his breath, then stood at his side. Striding through the door, sword in hand, came . . . Methos.

He saw them and brightened, "Oh it's you two. Is there beer?"

Neither Highlander was in the mood. "What are you doing here, Methos? I thought this was another fight you wanted no part of." Duncan's voice was harsh. Losing Connor was still a real possibility.

"Kell has finally decided to come for your head, MacLeod. I've told you -- you're too important to lose."

"And Connor isn't?"

"Kell isn't going to kill Connor."

"Some things are worse than death," whispered the original Highlander.

"There's something I don't understand," said Duncan quickly, trying to take his brother's mind off suicide. "Why hasn't Kell come for me before? He had to have known about me."

"He's desperate," replied the ancient. "To this point, Connor has lived a normal life – well, as normal as our lives are – and Kell hasn't had to do anything extraordinary to torture him. When he found out Connor had let the Watchers put him to sleep, drastic measures were called for. Threatening your brother, Highlander, was meant to inspire you to pursue Kell, so he could torment you further."

Connor was becoming more agitated, a good sign. "And you know all this how, old man?"

"5000 years, Watcher files, the usual," Methos replied affably.

"You went to see him, didn't you," Duncan asked, but it was not a question. "How did you survive his gang?"

The smile fell from Methos' face. He cast his eyes down. "There's no gang anymore, MacLeod. Kell killed them all. I was looking for him when I started to feel the quickenings. All gone."

"Kate." Duncan sank to his knees, tears appearing on his cheek.

"I'm truly sorry, Macleod."

His brother's pain might have been the only thing which could bring Connor back from his despair. "He has to die, Duncan. You have to take my head and kill him!"

No reaction to this plea appeared on Methos' face. "You should probably know before you give up your life, Highlander, that Kell seems to have decided to leave town."

Both MacLeods turned sharply to the older man, "How did you manage that?," they asked simultaneously.

"Did anyone ever tell you two that you looking nothing at all alike?" Methos's grin was back, "I used this." He produced a mask. "And this." He produced a gun. "It seems young Jake is a bit of a coward. I told him I knew what he planned and as soon as he took Duncan MacLeod's head, I'd gun him down and take his. He didn't like not knowing who I was. He especially didn't like the idea of dying while Connor Macleod lived. He went quite pale."

"But how do you know he left?"

"All the quickenings attracted the attention of the local authorities. We heard the sirens. Then I gestured with the gun. Very dramatically, I might add. Kell said he would leave tonight and not return. He could barely get the words out without stuttering. It was quite convincing. We can check with Joe on his whereabouts just to make sure."

The Highlander looked at his younger brother. "Joe Dawson, the watcher I told you about," Duncan explained. He suddenly grabbed Connor in a death grip, "I've, I've lost Kate, Connor. I can't lose you, too. I can't." The older man was forced to bear Duncan's weight as he very nearly collapsed in his arms.

"Alright, Duncan. I don't know what good I am to anyone but at least I know I'm not a curse. I'll stay with you as long as you need me."

end flashback

"Kell is on the two of you." Duncan insisted. The anger in the room seemed to have faded enough to allow for a bit of needling.

"I only got involved to save your life, Macleod."

"Doesn't matter. You could have killed him and you didn't, Methos. It's almost as if you considered it dishonorable to shoot him while he was down, then take his head. But that can't be, can it? The great and wise Methos only cares about the end, not the means." Duncan was clearly teasing now.

"Don't be too harsh with him, Duncan," Connor joined in the new, lighter mood. "He's frail, and besides we all owe him for Kalas."

Methos snorted. "If I get part credit for letting Kell go, you get full credit for failing to kill Kalas, Macleod. You fell for the oldest trick in the book: lose your sword, then jump off the Eiffel Tower. I must have warned you about that one a dozen times."

Connor was musing again, "And he recovered fast enough and was smart enough to get clear of all of you by morning light. Another tough opponent."

"Fortunately, that kind of fall would take anyone days to recover fully from. It gave Methos and Joe enough time to find and destroy the evidence of immortals."

"But he still could be here, Macleod, and that's on you."

"All right, fine. It's on me. We're all tied at 3 killing machines each coming for our heads. Can we call it a draw and talk about something else?"

Methos affected deep thought, "So why do so many of the killing machines have names which begin with K, anyway?"

The ensuing derisive laughter was cut short by a buzz. The two Scots had their swords out instantly. Methos went about his business – anyone coming to this room looking for a fight was too stupid to worry about.

In stepped Joe, followed by Amanda. Macleod dropped his sword and swept her up into his arms. She laughed. Joe whimpered, "What about me?" He turned to Methos with his arms wide, but backed away in alarm when Methos came at him with his arms open just as wide. This brought chuckles from all four immortals.

Macleod turned his ever-so-earnest look on Amanda, "I wish you wouldn't go out without one of us. Or all of us."

There was a moment of silence. Everyone in the room knew Amanda would die soon. She was small in stature and never put in the necessary time with a sword. She had stayed alive to this point on brains, agility, and, as the Gathering had progressed, Duncan's protection. None of these would be enough.

"Oh Duncan, stop with that face. I know my time is up and I prefer to go out on my own terms. You should consider living a little before the end instead of holing up in this room. After all, the only one likely to survive here is Joe." This prompted a groan from Methos, "What's the matter, dear, 5000 years not enough for you?" Amanda finished sweetly.

Connor was ever-practical, "Dawson, did you learn anything from your watcher friends while holding Amanda's bags?"

"Yeah, for one thing there are about 10 immortals hanging around this hotel."

At Duncan's wide eyes, Amanda explained, "It's your quickenings, darling. They must have gotten stronger due to the Gathering. I sensed you three before I saw the hotel."

Joe went on, "They get edgier with each passing hour. It's just a matter of time until there's a group outside the door."

That comment was directed at Duncan. He hadn't voiced it but his plan was obvious: keep Amanda here with them, safe against any challenge. It wasn't going to work.

"The Gathering will have its way," said Connor. "It's hard to believe I could have thought it was the real thing in New York 20 years ago. How little I knew." He turned quickly to stare at Methos, forestalling the anticipated sarcasm. Methos just smirked.

"What else, Dawson? Do you know how many are left?"

Joe spared a glance for Duncan, who sat on a bed with his head in his hands. Grieving for Amanda while she sat at his side. "It's under a hundred now. And dropping all the time. We don't get reports on the spot – the quickenings are big enough to disrupt the cell phones." There was something about the meeting of ancient immortal essence and modern watcher tool which gave everyone pause.

As usual, Amanda broke the silence. "I saw Richie." Duncan's head popped up. "He was walking with Kamir. Very open, very confident. He looks like he's been doing some heavy workouts."

"I'll bet he feels confident," Duncan shifted very quickly from grief to anger, "Kamir probably has him convinced he's a demi-god."

Connor took Duncan's head in his own hands. "I know you care about the boy, Duncan, but you need to clear your mind. Or someone's going to take your head while you're brooding."

"Anyone else, Amanda? Joe?" This was Methos.

"Cassandra."

"Oh great."

"She looks like she's out for blood."

"When doesn't she?"

"No, I mean it, Methos. She's been working out too. But Richie just seemed cocky, she seemed dark, in the middle of the day. Scary. She didn't say a word to me, just licked her lips like I was a snack."

"How reassuring." Methos began pacing.

Joe picked up. "No surprise, the Kurgan's here – he's hard to miss. So's Kell. No entourage, though. None of them have survived this far."

"He probably killed them himself. Anyone else?"

Amanda suddenly became very interested in the furniture. Dawson looked directly at Connor, but said nothing.

"He's alive, isn't he." Dawson gritted his teeth and nodded.

end part 3


	4. Bond, James Bond

Part 4 Bond, James Bond

Flashback

Heather had long stopped screaming, though she had every right to continue. Connor's friend Ramirez and the one he called Kurgan were, despite injuries that should have killed them both several times, still dueling. They were also destroying her home.

The two men smashed into things, fell hard against walls and floors, and seemed at least as intent on destroying everything near them as each other. The place was collapsing.

Finally, having tossed Ramirez around like a figurine, the Kurgan was ready for the kill. He stood, sword poised, while Ramirez was on his knees, beaten. Then the roof fell in.

Heather regained her senses to the sound of what was obviously strident cursing, even though she didn't recognize the language. The Kurgan, now looking fresh as a daisy, was straining to lift pieces of mortar. And failing. Ramirez was apparently under there somewhere, but the Kurgan couldn't get to him. He paced, he swore, he strained, it didn't matter. Then he caught sight of Heather.

end flashback

"For centuries, I thought it was the times he died before we could get him free. It didn't fall into place until that bastard bragged about what he did. Ramirez still looked like himself when we got him out and gave him some food and water. Worn, but himself. He took one look at Heather and his eyes turned haunted."

Ramirez snuck away that night, never to be seen by Connor again. After Heather died, the Highlander searched for decades. Dawson knew from Watcher files that Ramirez, with the skill of an ancient, had intentionally avoided him. The same skills had kept the Watchers from tracking him and, until now, it hadn't even been certain he was still alive.

Now it was Connor's turn to suffer. Duncan roused himself from thoughts of Amanda and Richie to approach his brother. "Connor." He stopped. "I've always been far too terrified to ask . . ."

"Why did I let him go?" Duncan nodded. "I was thinking of you, Duncan. I thought I had lost you and nothing mattered as much as finding you again. I was afraid that if I took the Kurgan's head, I'd be different, not your brother anymore."

Tears appeared, then poured down Duncan's cheeks. Amanda followed shortly thereafter. Dawson was actually smiling, knowing how much this meant to his friend. Methos was staring out the window again.

"After I found you," Connor continued, "I didn't hunt the Kurgan out of respect for Heather. Her strength, her decision to protect me from that knowledge so I wouldn't go get myself killed. If I win the Prize and live forever, there will never be another woman like her."

Now even Methos smiled, recognizing the sentiment.

"So one more on the side of the good guys," Dawson said deliberately, knowing Connor would want to be reassured on this point.

Methos went back to planning, "No Kronos? Kalas?"

Dawson shook his head, "But you know those guys are cunning, old man. They're among the best, but they're not the best. They need an advantage -- they may have decided that a low profile is it. They were both alive when the Watchers first realized the Gathering had begun. We have to assume they're here, along with guys like Clay."

"Watchers giving you any trouble for helping us, Joe?" Duncan asked.

"Nah, they're scared to death now. They want the good guys in the worst way. There have started to be demands from some that we interfere. Kill Kell and things like that."

Methos was contemptuous, "Do these people really think they could just kill Kell?"

"That's what I told them. The worst, most dangerous immortals would slaughter any group sent after them. That's if we could find them. We're down to the cream of the crop, now. They're losing their watchers whenever they want and finding places to fight no one knows about."

"There's something I don't understand. It seems very few of us are getting arrested and those that do are out the next day. It's like someone here is helping the Gathering along, but you say it's not the Watchers."

Dawson knew Connor was suspicious, "It's not, Highlander. If it was the Watchers, we'd do a lot more than grease some prison cells."

"So what's going on," Duncan piped in. "Why not more stories like the one on the plane?" The other immortals shuddered.

One of the first to arrive in Jerusalem was arrested for murder after a challenge. Unsurprisingly, he was wanted in Brazil and, helped along by international politics, extradition had been swift. The plane out, the news reported, had been damaged by a freak storm. Witnesses reported electricity seemed to leave the plane rather than strike it.

"Your body can leave the Gathering, but your quickening stays," murmured Methos when they saw the report. They were all stuck.

Connor Macleod was focused, "All this doesn't answer the question of how our kind is getting out of prison so easily."

Joe agreed, "It does seem like the authorities are being awfully cooperative. An immortal on the inside, maybe? Judge? Senior police officer? You know anything, old man?"

Methos shrugged, "I haven't been in these parts since just after the Crusades." When everyone looked at him, he indignantly added, "That was almost 2000 years after the Horsemen! I was helping to rebuild!"

Joe Dawson was a lowly mortal, but he was wise enough to have a rule about Methos. When Methos didn't know something, he talked incessantly. Thinking aloud until he had a satisfactory answer. When he did know, he either gloated or sidetracked you. From what he'd just heard, Joe leaned toward Methos knowing exactly what was going on.

"The part I don't understand, Joe, is why we haven't seen horror stories about new foundlings dying suddenly as their quickenings are pulled here." Methos again, on a different topic. Oh yeah, he knew.

"We don't know for sure but we suspect the same thing that happened to the new adult immortals when the Gathering started. They turned mortal." Connor gave a little start – he tended to avoid the watcher and hadn't heard.

"New immortals started seeing wounds not heal after the Gathering started," Joe explained, pondering how much beer would make Methos talk. "We have conversations overheard where their teachers confirm they're now mortal. We don't have everyone covered, but it's likely it happened to all of them. You guys can hold your quickenings and come with them here. The kids had their quickenings sucked right out."

"Amazing," Connor breathed, "I was an amazing idiot." He stalked away.

Joe smiled slightly, "You guys been razzing him about the Kurgan, again?"

"We went through the whole list, the Kurgan, Kell, Kane, Kronos, Kalas, Klay I mean Clay . . . "

"Yeah, it's an impressive list of mass murderers you guys have let walk."

Duncan bridled, "Not you, too, Joe."

"Don't get me wrong, Mac, I thought all of these decisions were the right ones, at the time. Now I'm beginning to wonder, though."

"Join the club."

Methos was muttering to himself, "Should have taken his head, dark quickening be damned."

"Is that what stopped you, old man?"

Methos was startled – apparently unaware he had spoken aloud. "Kell's insane. That is a difficult thing to absorb, even at my age. And he's taken a lot of heads. I wouldn't have become obsessed with torturing Connor, but there would have been something else."

Silence, to be broken of course by Amanda, "Like Death."

Methos grimaced and headed for his balcony, only to stop when he realized Connor was already there. "We're a happy bunch today, aren't we."

Amanda turned to her man, "Duncan, take me out tonight. I know we can't exactly go for a long walk alone, but we can have dinner in a nice, public restaurant. Maybe dancing afterward? No one's going to challenge in a club."

Duncan was silent. "Please, Duncan. We may not even have a chance tomorrow night. Joe tried to take me to a mall the concierge told us about and we couldn't get five minutes drive before I started to be pulled back. Who knows what's next? We could all be sleeping around the same fire at the weekend."

Duncan smiled, then remembered Amanda likely would be dead by the weekend, "I'd want Connor there, and Methos. And Joe, too, to tell us if anything's going on."

Amanda rolled her eyes, "Oh, that's romantic."

"We'll get two tables," Methos put in cheerfully. Then, eyeing a returned Connor, "OK, three tables."

The Highlander's face did not change expression.

"We all need to practice. We need to go up to the suite. Now." Duncan had gotten a huge room for Amanda and himself and then half-wrecked it sparring -- little point saving the money, after all.

"Isn't it a little late for that, Highlander?" Dawson asked. "Can it really help at this point?"

"Dawson, stick to talking about things you know."

Duncan turned to his mortal friend, "He's right, Joe. Connor and Methos haven't sparred together much. They can learn from each other."

"Especially since Methos has been holding out on us. Haven't you old man." It wasn't a question from Connor.

Methos avoided Duncan's eyes, "Yes, why not take out our frustrations with each other, on each other."

Duncan watched as Methos swarmed Connor. His brother was the best counter-puncher (with a sword) Duncan had yet seen. He couldn't touch Methos. This wasn't like the confrontation with Kell, where Connor was sick with despair and Kell used his abilities to cloud his sight. This was Connor near his best. And he couldn't touch Methos.

He could talk to him, though. "Why hold back these past weeks, old man? Are you so sure you're going to win the Prize you don't even care about training us?"

Connor had to shut up as Methos twirled the Ivanhoe at what looked to be an impossible speed for someone so slight. The Highlander threw an awkward punch that Methos wasn't expecting and used that as cover, "Forget about me, doesn't your friend deserve your help?"

Methos' reply was to change styles into something Duncan, and apparently Connor, had never seen. It looked like a fencing pose, with Methos using his longer reach to threaten the Highlander. Whenever Connor tried to lock swords and close, somehow he wasn't strong enough to push the Ivanhoe away.

Connor Macleod was not the technician Duncan now was with a sword. He certainly didn't have the martial arts abilities. But he was more determined. He accepted a nasty slice to the ribcage just to get a cut at Methos' neck. It was parried, but Connor pressed in even while he bled all over the mats they had put down.

"Why not kill me then, if I'm so useless. Then kill Duncan."

Not even Methos could ignore that. He stepped back, putting the Ivanhoe over his shoulder. He watched Connor heal, not quickly enough. "I thought you had Kane's quickening. Now . . . the Gathering came too early for you, Highlander, you're too young, not strong enough."

"Strong enough to beat the Kurgan."

"That was luck. And I don't believe in relying on luck."

"What about Duncan, then? We all know he has more skills than me. He hasn't taken as many heads but he has the quickenings of stronger immortals."

Methos sighed deeply. "Duncan's not enough of a warrior. I know, MacLeod," Methos held up a hand, "You are a warrior, but not enough of one. Not as much as Connor is. Not enough to win the Prize. At least, I don't think so."

"So let Duncan take my head, as I wanted a few years ago."

"Forget it, Connor. If one of us dies for the other, it will be me. Without you, I'd be dead already." To Duncan's shock, Connor didn't disagree.

"What about it, old man. Who has the better chance, me with Duncan's quickening or him with mine?"

Methos looked pained. Connor didn't like him or trust him but he knew Methos could answer these kinds of questions. Amanda saved him, her voice tiny, "The first thing that should happen is someone should take my head. It's not much but 1200 years can't hurt."

What Duncan said wasn't clear, and probably wasn't English, but it was loud and angry. Amanda just looked at him, "Would you rather Kalas get it?"

"None of us are taking your head, Amanda. That's insane!"

"No, it's the Gathering." For whatever reason, the other three immortals and Joe all chose that moment to turn and look at Methos.

"We need to be strategic about this. Anything can happen in a challenge. Someone can slip on a banana peel. It's too early to sacrifice one of you two," he pointed to the Scots. He looked at the ground. With a clear act of will he lifted his head up and walked to Amanda. He put his hands gently on her shoulders, "I'm sorry."

She nodded, tears again in her eyes. "After we go out tonight, OK?" Now Methos nodded with tears in his eyes. Amanda turned, "Duncan, it should be you. You should carry my memories, my essence."

"You know I can't, Amanda."

Connor surprised Duncan again. "I'll do it." There was no compassion in his voice. "Duncan, someone is going to take Amanda's head. Do you want her last act to be to give the advantage to someone like Kamir? He's probably plotting to get her right now."

Amanda: "Tonight, Duncan."

"Tonight," he choked out. Then they felt the buzz.

End part 4


	5. Someone's knockin' at the door

Part 5 Someone's knockin' at the door

It was either one strong immortal or several weak ones and since there were no weak ones left . . .

"Amanda, hide." Methos' voice brooked no objection. If someone wanted a fight, they would see only three tough challenges. "You too, Joe. I want as few people as possible to know we're getting extra information."

There was a polite knock, and it emanated from the middle of the door.

Dawson's puzzlement was reflected on the face of the two highlanders. "You don't suppose that little bastard Kenny could have survived this long, do ya?" He then scooted into the closet.

"It's not Kenny." This from Methos, who was heading for the door.

"Sure you want to do that, old man . . ." but the door was already open.

The figure couldn't be seen until he pushed Methos roughly aside and marched in. Kronos. No one wondered how he'd found them, he probably had spies all over the city.

"So this is what has the flies all buzzing downstairs," he eyed the Scots before turning back to Methos. "Have you formed a new gang, brother? The Three Musketeers? Or perhaps there's a fourth under this pretty bed? I'd hate to think it was just for the three of you – we can't have the Prize claimed by perverts, can we?"

Kronos' tone made it clear he didn't care a whit one way or the other. He was instead covering a searching of the room. Duncan grabbed his arm, "Let's get this over with, Kronos."

Kronos shook Macleod off, but did not draw his sword. "I'm not here for anyone, boy, at least not for now." He turned his attention back to Methos. "I'm here to tell you something, Methos. Silas died last night."

Methos closed his eyes.

"I was caught in my own fight and someone challenged Silas. A woman, if you can believe it. He wouldn't fight her properly until it was too late. She carved him up before he fell." Kronos' voice had been shaky but it turned hard. "His last words were: 'Tell Methos.' The foolish old sap."

Duncan interrupted, "Don't listen to him, Methos, he's trying to get into your head."

"So I'm here because I'm loyal to my brother, even in death. Not that you would remember that sort of thing, Death."

"I also have a message of my own to convey. I never came after you, Methos, because Silas didn't want me to. Now that he's gone, your time is up, _brother_."

Kronos made for the door but Methos barred his way, sword in hand. The older immortal raised a brow at the smaller one, "Why not now, brother?" Duncan peered at his friend – this was definitely a different Methos.

"If we wreck this place, where will the two children snuggle up?"

"We can find a spot."

"Not in the daylight. I won't risk prison with the Gathering so strong. I'll be out tonight Methos, we'll run across each other." He pushed past, encountering no resistance.

Methos' face was now expressionless. He went over to the mats and resumed his fighting stance, "Your turn, Macleod."

Joe and Amanda emerged from hiding, Dawson looking at the door. As Methos fell on Macleod like an eagle, Joe said to no one in particular, "Silas didn't protect Methos from Kronos, he protected Kronos from Methos."

Dinner time

Duncan kept glancing over at the 'boys' table of Connor, Dawson, and Methos. Amanda was annoyed, "If they're more appealing than I am, Duncan, we can change the seating."

"Just checking with Joe to see if anything's happening."

She took his hand, "This is my night, focus on me."

Duncan took in the life that always seemed to blaze forth from Amanda, even when she was driving him crazy, and nearly choked. It would be snuffed out tonight. He was supposed to be the vessel for Amanda's spirit and he wasn't anywhere close to being worthy.

He thought she was going to start lecturing him for being such a downer but instead he saw tears in her eyes.

"Duncan, please, for me." He nodded, not trusting his voice.

The rest of the meal went much better, considering. There was laughter from Joe and even Connor's inimitable chuckle as Methos began telling tales. There was nothing quite so good as 5000 years of material.

"No dessert." Amanda stood abruptly. There's a place down the street to dance. Let's go."

"It's not exactly a modern club, Amanda."

"You're not exactly a modern guy, Duncan."

So the group made its way out, Joe tapping his phone. With Amanda and Duncan ahead of them, he spoke quietly, "At least half a dozen immortals are moving with us. You guys must shine like a beacon. No word on Kronos."

"Any idea how many are left, Joe?"

"With all the updates in from last night, we're getting down close to 50 now. Could be half that by morning."

They had an obvious entourage in the shadows as they walked to what appeared to be an old stone-lined alley. There was a doorway and steps heading down at the end and, for a moment, it felt like they had gone back in time 3000 years. Or it felt like that to the one who had been alive then.

Before Duncan could begin to worry that someone would attack them right there on the stairs, they opened up to a small theater seemingly carved into the side of a hill. There was live music of two kinds, with apparently more options to come, and dancing of more than two kinds. Amanda swept Duncan forward, forestalling the inevitable attempt to assess the "club" for defense and possible escape routes.

"He always gets the girl," escaped from Connor before he realized what he'd said. He quickly turned to Methos and Joe, "Sorry, I know she's your friend, too. " Knowing they weren't high on Connor's very short be-nice-to list, the two men accepted the apology as heartfelt.

Evening turned to night, with Joe dancing up a storm on his prosthetics, Methos accepting when offered, and Connor staring everyone down. Normally, Amanda would flirt with half the men and a quarter of the women in any club, but tonight she did not leave Duncan's arms. He even followed her on the usual dozen trips to the ladies room, checking for other immortals and guarding the door.

After a particularly rousing group sing-a-long, in at least three languages, Amanda raised her eyebrow at Duncan. "What, again? What is it this time, an eyelash out of place?"

"After four centuries, you still don't have a clue about women. That dance ruined our hair. Look for yourself, half the crowd is heading to primp."

It was obvious by the stampede to the restrooms she was right. The crowd also made for more safety – too many witnesses and too many obstacles for someone to try for Amanda. Duncan nodded and followed, holding her hand in front of him.

I am a fool, echoed over and over in his mind. He'd been outside the women's restroom for 40 minutes and still no Amanda. Connor had come to check on them and left laughing. Twice.

One of the many faint buzzings they all felt all the time since coming to Jerusalem was sharpening as an immortal approached. Not Connor, probably Methos. He could recognize Connor and Amanda but Methos could control his quickening and gave a different buzz at different times, as a means of disinformation.

Amanda's own signature feeling grew louder and he turned to the doorway. Sorry Methos, you missed your chance to mock me for standing here by myself, Duncan thought. Then he saw Amanda looking past him.

Duncan Macleod was not Superman. He wasn't invulnerable to the blow coming at his skull and he couldn't avoid it. He had trained for more than 400 years, though, and his training led him to move his head forward. At the last moment, the blunt object which caught his skull didn't strike exactly where intended and had slightly less force behind it as the target had moved away. Duncan fell, but he did not lose consciousness.

Amanda did less training in most years than Duncan did in a week. But she was hardly a damsel in distress. Rather than crying for Duncan, she simultaneously drew her sword, witnesses be damned, and yelled at the top of her considerable lungs, "METHOS!"

Duncan wasn't sure what happened next but he heard swords lock and a blow struck, then the sound of moving and struggling. By the time he dragged himself to his feet, Methos and Connor were there. They left him for Joe and headed straight for the one possible exit – the way they came in. With Amanda as weight, the head start their opponent had wouldn't last long. The question was what to do when they found their quarry.

On returning to the street, Connor went right and Methos left. Both immediately found some of the innumerable alleyways which characterized this part of the city. As Methos ran, he pondered the idea that their entourage from earlier in the evening was in cahoots and it was all a trap. Or perhaps it was Kronos pulling the strings. Oh well, nothing to be done about it -- he wasn't just giving up on Amanda regardless of whether it was a sound strategic decision under the circumstances.

As Connor ran, he pondered who he would get to fight.

As luck had it, it was Connor who heard the clash of swords. Seconds later, he found Amanda dueling with a woman with reddish skin, very short darkish hair, short in height but built like a tank. Amanda had a visible bruise on her face, probably from the same weapon used against Duncan, and was clearly outmatched in swordswomanship.

"You can't interfere," came the accented English, the woman not bothering to glance at Connor. Connor wasn't as quick as Amanda intellectually but he figured out the best option in this case almost as fast, "METHOS!, Duncan, Joe!" Their immediate answering calls gratified him and a further exchange of yells brought the two immortals to the scene quickly, with Joe presumably not far behind.

The tank-like woman had halted her attack. Amanda was obviously not her concern -- that battle could be won at any time. She watched to see what the arriving men intended. "You can't interfere, either," she added to the two newcomers in a flat voice.

Methos stepped forward. "We aren't interfering, you are."

"With your plan to win the Gathering as a group?"

"No, with him," pointing to Duncan, "challenging her," pointing to Amanda.

The woman snorted, "I've been watching you all night."

Methos shrugged, "Last night on earth and all that. He challenged and she fled to a place he couldn't follow in public. He was waiting. You interfered." Methos had moved into self-assured mode. Otherwise known as smug. "If you don't yield, he'll take your head while you're down with the quickening."

"You'd break the rules that openly? Others will, too. Your gang won't survive long."

"We're not the ones breaking the rules."

The woman glanced behind her, seeing something where nothing was visible, and smiled slightly, "We'll see. We wait until someone else finds us. If you two accept fair challenges, I believe you and yield to him. My sword at her throat as guarantee."

Methos nodded, prompting forceful objections from both Amanda and Duncan. "She won't kill Amanda with Duncan right here. And she's correct that we're all looking at challenges now, anyway, right Joe?"

Dawson limped forward, looking at the text flowing across his phone. "Yep. You must have crossed them up with that sprint out the door but a few of your many fans will be here any time now." He looked at Methos and shook his head slightly – no Kronos.

"So we have multiple challenges right here?," Duncan was not sold. "The first quickening brings a crowd and then what?"

The tank was dismissive, "This is the Gathering."

"Joe give me your phone," ordered Methos.

"Hold. No one does anything until my terms are met or refused."

"Do it, Amanda. Trust me." As Amanda stepped forward, sword down, and Duncan swore, Methos dialed.

"Do you know where we are, because I don't," he said without introduction to the person answering. At the response, Methos let out an audible sigh. "That's the place. Hurrah. Yes, we can wait."

All eyes were on the old man, with only Joe seeming unsurprised. "I have a friend coming who can find a spot where we can all challenge and not risk having our quickenings ripped out in a jail cell."

"Of course you do," from Connor.

Methos turned to the tank to expound but she cut him off, "Jerusalem still lives?" He nodded. Joe grabbed his phone back and starting tapping but whatever he was looking for wasn't coming fast enough.

A sword inches from her neck, Amanda demanded, "Explanation. Now."

"Joe and Connor were right about someone arranging speedy releases for immortals picked up by the locals. Someone who has lived here for 3000 years and is owed favors by everyone and their families, dating back longer than you've been alive. He'll know the best place."

Duncan was furious with Methos for holding out on them yet again, but Amanda's opponent had accepted the explanation and that would do, for the moment.

The activity near them had grown so intense it seemed even Joe sensed it. The first person to appear was a huge man who might have been Indonesian. He held a broadsword large enough and bright enough to be a movie prop. Connor moved to greet him, "Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

"Your death" was the reply, causing the other immortals to roll their eyes.

As the giant came forward, Connor held his sword up, "Not here, we know of a safer place."

The giant's eyes narrowed but he stopped.

Stepping out of the shadows at that was a black woman physically similar to Cassandra but a bit taller and with shorter hair. "Whoever doesn't get her," she indicated Amanda, making it clear she had been listening for a while, "gets me." Duncan and the tank indicated agreement.

"It appears we have an embarrassment of riches," said a small man with light brown skin walking in tandem with a woman with dark brown skin about his size.

"You could always challenge each other," Methos suggested helpfully.

"Sorry, my friend, I've evened out the numbers. And I can even arrange a prime arena." A bald man of average size jogged toward Methos and embraced him, a fairly daring act considering the various swords drawn. He pointed east.

end part 5


	6. Less Talk, More Beheadings

Part 6 Less Talk, More Beheadings

It doesn't get much stranger than this, Joe thought, watching from a discreet distance. Ten of the last 45 or so immortals walking together to their death matches, with half a dozen watchers following and more on the way.

While the watchers were chatting excitedly, if quietly, the immortals were entirely silent. The strength of the quickenings told all participants they could easily die in the next few minutes. As the walk dragged on, the woman with reddish skin made her way to Methos, "Are you really the person they called you?," she tilted her head to Amanda, Duncan, and Connor, walking side by side. He shrugged. She stared at him a moment, then moved away.

A few minutes later, Connor wanted to know whether they were headed for Glasgow.

Their newest companion, the bald man, replied, "This area is criss-crossed with unmarked holy ground. I'm taking you to a place that is safe to take a head. If you want to stop and fight here, be my guest." There were no more queries.

The Immortals finally arrived at what appeared to be a small, walled community in the middle of a slightly larger patch of nothing at all. Amanda asked first, "Who lives here?"

"Me," replied the bald man. That solved a few very large problems – the immortals would be much less likely to be observed.

The small man with light brown skin let go of his partner's hand and moved forward, "You are the immortal who has been living here for centuries, named by some as 'Jerusalem'." It wasn't a question. He drew two short-swords, "I've long wanted to take your head."

"He's been here for millenia, actually," Methos put in.

At this the small man paused, but then resumed his stance. There was no avoiding such battles now. "I guess that leaves you and me, milady." Methos bowed to the man's dark-skinned companion. She revealed a katana. "Oh good, I'd been hoping for some practice against someone wielding one of these. Wielding one with skill, I mean."

Both Highlanders snorted. "One at a time or all together?," stated Connor. There was no doubt what he was referring to.

"If you don't mind," he gestured to his opponent, "we will go first," replied the bald man. "All of you may verify that I am not using my place of abode to advantage." The small man's response was to move away from the group, toward a clearing. A moment later the battle was joined.

Despite knowing more or less what to expect, the group of watchers, having found a nearby hill from which they could use night goggles to see into the community, were instantly mesmerized. Despite thousands of years of collective experience, the immortals eventually were also.

The small man was either truly ambidextrous or very nearly so. His two swords moved equally quickly and, with half as much space to defend for each weapon, their speed was almost blinding. He attacked from the outset, furiously. His opponent seemed just as quick with his hands but, with only one sword, he could barely keep himself from harm. They moved together in a slow but intricate dance, the small man always pressing forward but never with undue haste, never leaving an opening.

Connor ignored the fight for the moment, looking at his companions. Duncan and Amanda had eyes only for each other. Methos was either bored or pretending to be bored. His own, huge opponent appeared equally disinterested. The brown-skin man's female companion, in contrast, was watching closely and clearly attempting to control her emotions. The other two women were engaged in elaborate stretching exercises. Athletes, he thought warily.

The fight had gone on for some minutes now. The small brown-skinned man's tactic was clearly to look to wear the other out through a series of small wounds. His shortswords were swung not to maim but to nick. The bald man had somehow to this point parried every blow from both blades but he was beginning to labor. His skill was exceptional but his conditioning seemed ordinary by immortal standards.

Connor approached Methos, "Your friend is in trouble."

"Not yet."

The answer was puzzling, as was the battle. While both men evinced superior skill even by the Highlander's standards, Connor did not understand why they didn't vary their style. He wasn't sure he could match the speed of either warrior but, then, he wouldn't try to. He would accept a wound or two to close and try to overpower the small man or offer an opening to 'Jerusalem,' to try to put him off-balance. These two seemed more interested in giving an exhibition than winning.

The bald man half ran, half jumped sideways, clearly trying to win some space to gather himself. His opponent smiled ever so slightly and pursued. That smile was echoed more broadly on the face of his companion, Methos' next foe. It had taken some time, but now weakness had been shown.

In a turn of events which surprised nearly all the watchers, but none of the immortals, the bald man changed his style. No one who had survived to this point in the Gathering would just fade into death. 'Jerusalem' placed both hands on his sword hilt and used the greater control to shorten his parries. For the first time, the small man was on the defensive. Now the assembled immortals began to pay closer attention – you were supposed to use greater reach against two shortswords. How could one blade be faster than two?

Connor figured it out easily. As was often the case with a great sword, the feet were critical. The bald man was moving his feet slightly to change distance and angles so that the effective speed of his blade was increased. His torso also began to shift slightly, to the same effect. His feet moved more and more quickly, his body visibly turning this way and that, ever so slightly. His footwork seemed flawless even at the blistering pace the two had set. Now it was time for the small man to change his approach.

Only he never got the chance. With the small man looking only to parry and delay for the moment, the bald man had the opportunity to turn his body entirely around and bring his blade in a great arc that might have tested the tensile strength of both swords. But instead of the theatrical, usually pointless spin, the bald man used his initial momentum also to leap to the side. The limited reach of shortswords meant the wide sweep of the bald man's blade was now beyond them. It bit deeply into the small man's back.

His companion cried, "Yazan!" and began to run toward the two. But without pause, the bald man reversed his maneuver, spinning back to his original position, sword leading but this time aimed at the neck. The fight was over.

Methos intercepted the dark-skinned woman before she could exact revenge and pulled her away from the quickening. To no one's surprise, it was quite impressive. Anyone taking such a quickening would be down and out for several minutes, long enough for other immortals to converge even from a distance and take the helpless head. There was far too much at stake --- it seemed all challenges would have to occur in groups now.

Connor was more than willing to go next but didn't get the opportunity. As soon as the quickening was completed, the dark-skinned woman attacked Methos. Tears were streaming down her face and she was trying to maneuver while choking back sobs. This would be a short fight.

And so it was, but not in the way everyone expected. Methos was in no difficulty, moving away, parrying occasionally, merely waiting for the opening which would inevitably be provided by the distraught woman. When it came, he went straight for her head, intending to be merciful and end the suffering quickly.

Mistake. The woman threw herself onto the ground in a maneuver which had to be quite painful. She came up with a bloody nose, multiple ugly bruises, and a fistful of sand in her free hand. Normally, Methos would hardly fall for such a trick but he had thought her finished from the time the first blow was struck. She hurled the sand into his eyes. Duncan tried to leave Amanda to go to his aid but she caught him. The woman, tears still on her face but with her features now twisted in rage and satisfaction pivoted gracefully to deliver the killing blow.

And caught Methos on the shoulder. Connor grunted in approval. Methos couldn't see but he knew the sword was coming at his neck. At the last second, he moved. Painful, but not that risky, considering.

The dark-skinned woman clearly understood this. Her next blow was not at Methos' head but his middle. Methos held his blade to guard his heart, moved his head again, and even swiveled his body to the side to present a smaller target in front of where he believed his opponent was. The sword bit near his waist under the ribcage. It was a minor wound, but the woman executed a hard roll while twisting her sword deeper into his body. An impressive move.

It had the desired effect. Methos cried out in pain and, tears now streaming from his own eyes, fell to his knees. Connor couldn't believe it. Methos was going to die here.

The dark-skinned woman apparently thought so too. Her roll took her several feet from Methos and she watched for a moment from a crouch. Blood was pouring from the wound and, if it wasn't fatal, Methos would shortly be unable to stand and probably pass out. She advanced cautiously, sword in front to block any last-ditch swipe. Satisfied, she stood behind him and again swung for the head.

This time her blow was parried. Firmly. Immortals and watchers collectively gasped as Methos held the block and stood. He was pale – well, paler -- but the tears had apparently cleared his eyes and, more important, the blood had stopped flowing. Connor heard Duncan's voice, "He can control his quickening."

Indeed, the wound had healed almost as fast as a minor cut might on another immortal. Connor's wide eyes were matched by those on the dark-skinned woman. She backed away, probably unconsciously as there was obviously no escape. "Who are you?!"

Methos didn't answer, but instead unleashed the kind of assault Connor had received in the hotel earlier today. The woman might have been good enough to meet the attack but she was now psychologically defeated. It took only a few moments for Methos to finish her off. Good thing, as he was staggering even before the quickening started.

When it was over, the tank-like woman who had tried to kidnap Amanda approached Methos, sword sheathed. "So you're really him. I was hoping you were a myth." She then stalked over to Duncan and Amanda, arm in arm at this point. "Are you still going to pretend you were hunting her?"

Amanda separated herself slightly to address the woman, "I can't win the Prize. I wanted Duncan to have my quickening." She stared at the woman, defying her to doubt.

"Fine. But he takes your head before I accept her challenge," indicating the short-haired black woman.

At this the Indonesian giant bellowed, "I'm tired of waiting!" He pointed his absurdly large blade at Connor, "Your time is now."

"As you like."

The two practically ran at each other and the meeting of their blades was both loud and bright. "It's the damn Trojan War," mumbled Dawson watching from the distance.

end part 6


	7. Amanda

Part 7 Amanda

This gets a little ugly

It was very much like fighting the Kurgan. His huge opponent wasn't as skilled but it again was taking all Connor's strength to meet the sword swung down at him.

The giant's strategy was clear. He was adept defensively, helped by the length of his blade. His attacks were crude but all too effective at what they were designed to do. After only a few minutes, the force of the blows was wearing Connor out. His shoulders and arms protested each time he raised his sword.

Breathing heavily, Connor eyed his smiling enemy. He wasn't Duncan, he couldn't close and rely on martial arts to offset superior size and strength. He wasn't Methos to use a near-fatal wound to advantage. The giant wouldn't take risks – he didn't need to. Where was a shapely redhead with a crowbar when you needed one?

Then the answer came. Connor wasn't an artist like his brother. He was just a brawler. But that included boxing. Not boxing with those ridiculous puffy gloves they used now but true boxing – bare fisted. When faced with someone much larger than you and bare fists, you didn't slug it out. You danced.

Connor began to circle, moving more quickly and not letting his opponent engage. First, the giant chased him, then he stopped scowling, "Stand and fight."

"I'm fighting, you're the one standing." The smart thing for the giant to do would be to continue to stand, not to play into Connor's hands. The Highlander wanted to avoid that. In Connor's experience, giants came in two types: gentle and explosive, with the latter not accustomed to being insulted because their size scared everyone off. He hoped immortal giants had the same traits.

"That's an awfully large sword you've got. Does holding it make you feel better about . . . you know . . . that other problem?"

There were scattered guffaws, mostly female. Amanda was in there pitching for him, bless her. Sure enough, his opponent was infuriated by the sophomoric barb. He charged Connor just as before, only this time Connor danced backward, then tried a sideways lunge the giant barely parried. Oh, this was much more promising. No painful jolt to the shoulder and a weakness in his enemy's defense. Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw his brother smiling his approval.

Minutes passed, the immortals grew restless, and the watchers outright bored. It was difficult for someone of Connor's temperament to be patient but he couldn't take the bait of the giant's increasingly labored breathing. It was almost certainly a trap and, even when the giant became legitimately tired, Connor had to be careful to avoid getting his sword locked up and having the giant hit him. The Highlander had used this tactic many times himself and he didn't have 300+lbs behind his blows.

When it became obvious the Highlander was winning, the giant stopped pursuing. Half a dozen wounds from "jabs" by Connor had already healed but half a dozen more still bled. The giant would wait, he would recover fully, and the battle would start all over again. You didn't get this far by being completely stupid.

Connor couldn't allow it. A moment after the giant's body language indicated he had enough of Connor's boxing lesson, the Highlander charged. His swing at the neck was parried, of course, and the two blades met in exactly the kind of close combat the smaller man should have avoided. Smiling again, the giant put his free hand to Connor's neck. He might not be able to strangle the Highlander outright with one hand but he could cut off his air enough to gain a decisive advantage.

Instead of trying to bat the hand off or backing away, Connor plunged his finger tips, in a strike position, into the most promising of the giant's healing wounds. He had learned enough martial arts to add some zest to the blow. The giant groaned and instinctively moved to protect the weak spot, leaving his sword in poor position. Connor took the quickest blow he had, straight down to the giant's left foot.

A good chunk of which was thus separated from the rest. The giant howled and stumbled and blood shot everywhere. In the distance, several watchers lost their binoculars and then lost their dinners. Before his opponent could try to get his balance, Connor was on him. His attack was fairly cautious but it gave the giant no chance to just stand and fight, his only hope with half a foot missing. A few seconds later, there was another serious wound. Then another. Then it was over.

The quickening was shorter and less violent than the two preceding. The giant had taken a fair number of heads but was as young as he seemed. As it ended, Connor was cursing. He needed more power.

He hobbled over to Duncan and Amanda, "Thanks to both of you." He gave them the famous smile, which hadn't been seen much recently. Duncan left Amanda's side for the first time in many hours to clasp his brother's shoulders. Almost immediately afterward, with his back to her, he froze. It was time.

Amanda took Duncan's sword by the hilt and handed it to him. It hung in the air. She stepped toward him, he stepped back. "Duncan . . ."

"I can't. I know I said I would but there's no chance. I can't."

"Then she'll take my head. My memories with Rebecca. My love for you. My life will have been a waste. Or my quickening can help you save the world." Amanda resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at her own statement. She had to die coaxing Duncan to play boy scout? Hadn't she spent enough of her life doing that?

Duncan knew her well enough to see the suppressed smirk on her face and exclaimed, "I can't believe you! You're impossible!"

She shrugged. "Might as well die the way I lived. Besides, that's why you love me."

"Yes, that's what I love you. That's why I've loved you for centuries."

She extended the sword again, "Show me." And this time he took it.

The others had backed away, whether to give them privacy or avoid the quickening or both. Duncan took the sword and pulled her into his arms. It wasn't the best kiss she had ever had, Amanda thought, but it was pretty good. And it was with the right person. Not the worst way to go.

After a very long embrace, she stepped back. She cocked her head slightly and smiled the same blinding smile she gave him centuries earlier. Right before she robbed him. For the first time.

Duncan knew he mustn't make her wait. The blow was as fast and as clean as he could make it. His tears began to flow before the quickening struck,

"AMANDAAAA!"

Joe Dawson wiped his eyes. A friend dead. His best friend suffering terribly. He collected himself and told the watchers to split up and return to their stations. "What about the last challenge?"

"If it isn't on the way already, those yells are going to bring company. They may be safe inside that compound but we aren't. We need to go."

As the quickening faded, Duncan became visible. He had Amanda's blood all over him and a visage that would frighten a serial killer. Connor nudged Methos, "Still think he's not enough of a warrior, old man?"

The three of them left as the last challenge, between the two women, started. They had no interest. Not a word was said on the way back. As they reached the hotel, Methos stopped Duncan, "I'll take your room. You stay with Connor."

Duncan nodded – his room with Amanda. Then he broke down. Connor held him upright and murmured to him while he wept.

"But what's the point, Connor, what's the point? Even if one of us wins, we'll be alone. What good is the prize if Amanda's dead, if you're dead. Why am I doing this? Why have I done any of it? Why?"

After a few more moments, Duncan straightened, "Take my head. Right now. It's late, we'll find an alley, and Methos' friend can protect you." Connor just looked at him.

"Then you do it, Methos. My head and you win the Prize, I know you've thought that."

"Not now, MacLeod."

Duncan grabbed him, "Yes, now!"

"No. In the morning, if you still want me to take your head, I will. Or Connor can. But not now, while you're sick with grief."

"You think I'll be all better in a few hours? What difference will it make if I am? So I'll live until the next challenge. And if I win tomorrow night, maybe Connor will die. Will you give me a few hours to get over that, too?!"

Methos allowed Duncan to manhandle him. He kept his voice even and his face calm, "You have Amanda's quickening. Don't you want to have some time?"

At her name, Duncan looked as if he was going to slug his friend. Then he put his hand on his sword. Finally, his shoulders fell and he closed his eyes. "Come Duncan," Connor led him inside, nodding slightly to Methos.

Methos watched until they were out of sight, then took out his hand computer. He sent a message, "How many?" turned the machine off, and headed in himself. It had been a rough night, and not just for Macleod.

End part 7


	8. The poor little Rich boy

Part 8 The poor little Rich boy

He was awoken by knocking at the door. No tingling from an immortal. Housekeeping or Dawson. Dawson. "Hey sleeping beauty, it's almost noon."

"I lost a lot of blood last night. Needed food and rest." Methos didn't bother to ask if Dawson had seen the battle.

Joe nodded. "I went to your room first and Connor wouldn't let me see Mac. How bad was it?"

"He wanted to die." That silenced Dawson. He could figure out very quickly how that conversation must have gone.

"What if he still wants to die today, old man?"

"Then we do the same thing we did with Amanda."

"Just like that, kill your friends night after night."

"I've watched friends die for 5000 years, Joe." At Dawson's scornful look, Methos just shrugged, "What do you want me to say? I'll stroke MacLeod's cheek while Kell takes Clay and Kalas and Cassandra and becomes unbeatable? If Duncan hadn't spent so much time protecting Amanda, he might have gotten strong enough to win the Prize. Save the world, you know all that stuff you watchers are so worried about."

"That's not who he is."

"Well who he is isn't good enough to win. Richie's next you know. Amanda lived more than 1000 years, what's he doing to do when Richie dies in half a mortal lifetime?"

"So he can't grieve for Amanda for one day? What should he be doing? Practicing?"

"No, he should be out there killing."

"Then why aren't you?"

"Because I don't need to!" Methos realized what he was saying and calmed down. "I don't need to. I have enough power to win. If I lose it will be because I'm not good enough hand to hand. Duncan needs to take heads. So does Connor. They didn't get enough last night. Not nearly enough."

Joe gained some understanding of why Methos was acting this way. How could he approach MacLeod? Sorry about Amanda, old chap, but she was too weak to do you any good. Now go out there and kill. There was no way to say it, and it had to be said.

"Can he win? I know you can, but can he?" Methos shook his head. "Connor?" Another no.

"Not right now, for either of them. They need to get lucky and beat someone exceptionally powerful, then have enough time to fully absorb the quickening. Last night would have worked, but we lost the opportunity."

"You're trying to control this whole thing, aren't you. You and that friend of yours who isn't in any of our files."

"No reason he should be in the files, he hasn't left the city in three thousand years."

This gave even the veteran watcher pause. "So what's the latest? My people are basically useless at this point unless the immortals want to be seen. It's like you all have super powers."

"Basically we do. Though not for long. Jerusalem says there are barely 20 of us left." Joe looked puzzled. "That's the name he uses."

"Well at least Richie's one of them. I saw him this morning, along with a few faces I didn't want to recognize. The circle must be closing – you all are within a few blocks of each other now."

"And when a group of us move, the others are basically forced to as well. Very tidy." Methos felt the buzz. Or, rather, a stronger buzz than what he felt all the time now. "The MacLeods are coming."

Joe stared, "What else can you do, old man?" Methos did not answer, instead eying the door, stone-faced. Some moments later, it was swept open as Duncan charged into the room, followed by a more subdued Connor.

Duncan looked back and forth between Dawson and Methos, "Is Richie still alive?" Joe nodded vigorously while Methos sighed. "Where is he?"

"Last I saw him was catty-corner across the street eating breakfast."

"And Kamir?"

"Not there. Not sure he's still around."

"He is," Methos put in.

"And how do you know that," sharply from Duncan. "Your friend you never told us about?" Duncan strode across the room to Methos, "How many?" Methos flashed both hands twice. "20? How can Richie possibly be one of the last 20? What's going on? Are you manipulating all of us again?"

Methos sighed a second time, "Richie's one of the last because he's more trouble than he's worth. Thanks to you he's very good with sword, thanks to Kamir he's very good without a sword, and his quickening is about as weak as you can get. That's why Kamir hasn't taken his head – Richie's more useful to him alive. He can beat much older immortals and, if he loses, Kamir doesn't have to worry about a rival getting a powerful quickening."

Duncan glared at him for a moment, then practically ran from the room. The three men looked at each other for a moment, then dragged themselves up to follow.

By the time they got to street level and spotted Duncan, he in turn had sighted Richie and was charging toward him. Richie stood in alarm and put his hand where a sword hilt might be.

Not that I blame him, thought Joe. Methos said to Connor, "He's on something, something strong -- an immortal doesn't change that much." Conner didn't reply, just picked up his pace.

When they arrived at the scene, Joe could see Methos was right. Richie looked like, well, Richie on steroids. He hadn't physically developed into a man, that was impossible. But he was muscled far beyond where an late teen body could go naturally, yet without adding much weight.

Duncan had tried to approach Richie and been told to stop. They now stood staring each other. "What do you want, MacLeod? Challenge me? Finish the job? Fine, I'm ready for you. Name the time and place." Richie's voice was deeper as well.

"I'm not here to take your head, Richie, I'm . . . "

Duncan was interrupted: "You expect me to believe that?"

" . . . I'm here to offer you mine." Richie's snort and Joe's "What!" were immediate. Connor and Methos didn't look at all surprised.

"I mean it, Richie. I want you to take my head. We'll find a place, now or tonight."

"Cut the crap, MacLeod."

"Oh he means it, Richie," this from Methos. "Who else but MacLeod would come up with something so noble, and soooo stupid."

Duncan didn't take his eyes of Richie, "Stay out of this, Methos."

His voice brooked no argument. Methos' "Fine!" was half-muttered. Joe, however, was under no such restriction. "Mac, you can't. We're counting on you, the WORLD may be counting on you."

"That's right, MacLeod," Richie sneered. "The world needs its big hero."

Duncan was ready for this, "Richie . . ."

"Rich."

"Rich. You know better than anyone that I can't handle a dark quickening. I can't be the one. But maybe you can. With my experience and my power added in, maybe you can be strong enough to win this and good enough to keep your soul."

Connor finally broke in, "It doesn't work like that, Duncan, and you know it."

"That's why I'm counting on you and Methos, and Joe, to protect him for a few days while he absorbs my quickening."

The other three men fell silent – Duncan wasn't just grieving, he had a plan. A plan which might even work.

Richie … Rich, noticed the looks pass among the others and realized this wasn't a joke. "Oh come on, MacLeod, I am not going to take your head!"

"Then Connor or Methos will. And you'll die tonight. Or tomorrow. I'm done, Richie . . . Rich. I don't want to fight anymore; I wouldn't take the Prize if it was handed to me. Methos doesn't need my quickening. It's you or Connor and I'd rather it'd be you."

Methos looked at Connor during the mini-confession and the Highlander grimaced. Duncan needed to be tougher.

Joe stepped forward, but Duncan froze him with "Joe, PLEASE."

Rich had realized something, "Where's Amanda?" It wasn't really a question. He turned to Dawson, still not wanting to talk to MacLeod, "Who was it?"

At this, Duncan closed the remaining distance between them and put his hand slowly and gently on Rich's arm. "It was me, Richie."

Rich knocked Duncan's hand off and pulled his sword out in broad daylight, "Murderer! Stay away from me or I'll kill you right here!"

"It wasn't like that."

"I don't believe a word you say, MacLeod. You're a butcher. You tried to kill me twice, you were going to kill Kamir over a statue, you killed Amanda. I'm not going to be your next victim. Draw your sword, or leave, or I'll cut you down on this spot."

A screaming man with a sword naturally drew some attention. Methos turned to Connor, slapped him across the face, grinned all too enthusiastically, shouted "You dare challenge me, swine. Prepare to meet your doom!" and theatrically drew his sword.

Connor responded by drawing his own, "It will not be I who rues this day, barbarian!" and they promptly engaged in what was obviously a mock swordfight, complete with pratfalls, wild swings, and, especially, taunts.

Dawson turned to the gathering crowd and remarked drily, "Actors – we're filming here this month." The Watcher cover story. He yelled, "The crowd demands blood!"

Connor immediately sliced Methos in the side, and now it was his turn to smile all too enthusiastically. Blood flowing, Methos ran to the most comely woman in the crowd, went to one knee, took her hand, and stage whispered, "Fear not, 'tis just a scratch. I shall yet preserve your honor and bring you the head of this lout. Then perhaps, a reward for my valor?" At the last, Methos faced Connor, grinning ferociously, and charged forward, obviously unaffected by the wound. The crowd transformed from fearful to amused.

More important, no one was paying attention to Rich's sword. Like everyone else, Duncan and Rich had watched the display with open mouths. Eventually the student turned back to the teacher, "This doesn't change anything MacLeod, you're still a murderer."

"I'm unarmed, Rich." MacLeod spun to show no place where a sword could be hidden.

"So what, you know I can't take your head out here. This is just a trick to lure me to wherever you've put your sword."

"Richie . . . Rich. Do you really believe that of me?"

"I believe, MacLeod, that you've already done your best to kill me twice and on my worst day I'm not stupid enough to follow you somewhere at the height of the Gathering."

"Uhh, speaking of which," Joe broke in.

Duncan and Rich looked in the direction Joe was pointing, and saw the end of the world.

end part 8


	9. Eat, drink, and be merry

Part 9 Eat, drink, and be merry

Duncan and Rich hadn't noticed the approach of the other immortals. Their own argument and the tingling felt constantly during the Gathering had been enough of a distraction. Now the Kurgan was here. And the tank-like woman who had tried to kidnap Amanda. And the bald man known as Jerusalem. And several others. All engaged in battle.

Or, rather, mock battle. As Connor and Methos had, the most powerful immortals in the world were feigning insult, indignation, and injury as they abandoned any notion of form or style in a melee where opponents were switched at the drop of a hat and languages were heard that not even this city could remember.

Their audience was now uncomfortably large for any immortal but it was rapt, and roaring. Grayson was here and clearly in his element, prancing the length of the "battlefield" to declare that this indeed was his greatest enemy, stabbing while the other immortal wasn't looking, then finding another greatest enemy who wasn't looking.

But the star of the show was the Kurgan. He roared and swung his huge sword menacingly, then collapsed in a dead heap at the slightest blow. Only to rise up again and look ferocious. Duncan panicked for a moment as the Kurgan spotted Connor engaged with an immortal he didn't know and charged toward him. Only to see the Kurgan grab his brother and tickle him, "I never promised not to do this, Highlander! Hahahahahaha!" The Kurgan could really laugh.

Duncan and Rich exchanged glances and shook their heads simultaneously, bringing slight smiles to both faces. "Now I'm sorry I didn't bring my sword."

Joe joined them, "I've read the chronicles going back more than 3000 years – there has never been anything like this. Not even close."

Methos trotted over – there was certainly no need for an even number of immortals and fair fights. "That's what happens, I guess, when four of us spend more than a minute in one spot. Everyone converges. Kronos is nearby. Ramirez, too, I believe. And others. Maybe all of us."

The bald man joined them as well. "I had the same thought. Is there any way we can get everyone's attention?" That looked close to impossible, given the spread and volume of the merriment.

Joe thought for a second, then fired his gun into the air. This was a place that recognized gunfire. Quickly to the crowd, "Sorry folks, nothing to worry about. Just blanks. Takes a lot to get these clowns to pay attention. Actors!" he harrumphed. Audible relaxation.

The bald man stepped forward, "I have found a place where we can . . . rehearse without disturbing anyone. Please see me for the information." Some of the immortals trotted forward, accompanied by not a few members of their audience.

Joe took over, "I'm sorry, no viewing of the rehearsal. Because . . ."

Methos jumped in, "Because we're afraid you won't want to pay to see the final performance."

"Yes, that's what we're afraid of." The crowd began to disperse.

The tank-like woman approached Jerusalem first. "What time?"

"Midnight." She walked off.

Grayson was next, "I trust you and your misguided morals, Duncan MacLeod. What is this about?"

Duncan answered, "He owns a place where the quickenings don't seem to draw attention. Some of us were there last night."

Grayson turned to the bald man and received a card with an address. He inclined his head slightly to the group and moved on. Several others followed, but not enough. "This isn't working," Jerusalem said to Methos.

"I can move things along a bit." Methos turned halfway around and yelled, "Kronos, this is where I will be tonight!" Kronos appeared instantly. A moment later, so did Cassandra from another vantage point. They took the address cards wordlessly, glaring at Methos the entire time. Cassandra then hovered near Duncan while Kronos headed back the way he came.

"Let me try," said Connor, grinning. "Kane, if you want me, this is where I'll be!"

"I'm right here."

The group whirled to find the magician behind them. "Nice trick. You're looking well, considering," the Highlander taunted while handing over a card.

"I can't decide whether to kill you first or your sad excuse for a brother."

"Centuries stuck in cave and you still haven't made up your mind?"

Kane looked to be surrounded by fire for a moment, then he walked away, his feet not seeming to touch the ground.

Before anyone had a chance to comment, a strong buzz was felt. A pale, thin man with a shaved head was approaching. He had everyone's attention, even the Kurgan's. "Soon you and I will be the last ones left, Connor MacLeod, as I foretold."

"Not if I kill you first." Despite his pain, Duncan keenly felt the need to avenge the torment Kell had inflicted on his brother.

"You're only alive by chance, Duncan, and your good fortune ended with the Gathering. I shall kill you in your brother's sight, so he may suffer that much more." He strode off.

"Don't worry, Highlander," the Kurgan addressed Connor in his baritone. "I'll make sure you aren't the last two." After taking a card, the Kurgan ran his sword across his chest twice, drawing a good deal of blood, "Cross my heart and hope to die." He moved away, chuckling. Joe shuddered – the writings on the Kurgan didn't do him justice.

Several other immortals then approached and departed, leaving Joe checking his hand device. That's most of them, but no Ramirez, Kalas, or a couple others." He faced Rich, "You wanna tell Kamir?"

Rich paused, then admitted "Haven't seen him in almost two days." Another pause. "He might be dead."

"He's not." came simultaneously from several corners.

Richie didn't seem the slightest bit surprised. "I didn't expect him to stay much longer. The teacher-student thing doesn't go this far into the Gathering." At the description of their relationship, Duncan winced. "I learned a lot from him, MacLeod. Not as much as I did from you, but at least he never tried to kill me."

"Not yet," put in Methos. Richie glowered at him but said nothing.

Jerusalem spoke up, "I believe I can ensure that the remainder are informed. One caution: it may be difficult to leave once we are all gathered. The circle is tight even now. Come prepared."

With the area now almost clear, Duncan intended to continue his conversation with Richie, but a voice distracted. The Voice – Cassandra's.

She put her hand on his arm and said softly, "I'm deeply sorry about Amanda." For a moment, Duncan could see the old Cassandra. Then she darkened again. "But how can you still be at his side, Duncan? It was bad enough before, but the Gathering! What if he wins the Prize? He may be the biggest killer of all."

Duncan stepped away from her touch, "Was, Cassandra. Was. How many centuries have to pass before he gets another chance?"

She laughed, a frightening sound. "If I killed thousands, then tortured your little student here for years before taking his head, how many centuries would you let me live to have another chance? Methos should be long dead, and he will be soon. _Stay out of my way, Duncan_." Duncan found himself involuntarily moving out of her way as she left.

Of the group, only Methos was unaffected by that voice. The other men shook their heads as if trying to remove cobwebs. Joe looked instinctively at his computer, almost for comfort – "Sorry, guys, but it's not over yet. Richie . . . Rich, if you stay here you're gonna be challenged."

Duncan had to think for a moment but the look on Rich's face focused his mind, "Clay."

"He'll be in sight in seconds. Must have been farther away. You probably didn't notice him in particular because of the crowd."

Now, however, they did. Clay's quickening was as strong from a distance as Duncan remembered. Their fight over Rich had been shockingly short and Duncan realized it was only due to the man's grief. According to Joe, he had since returned to the form which had been good enough to kill Graham Ashe.

Clay approached slowly with his body relaxed, signaling no imminent danger. He scanned the group of five before approaching Duncan and bowing. "I intend to challenge your student. Will you interfere?"

"Uh, standing right next to you."

Both men ignored Rich. "Why are you bothering to ask?" Duncan knew it wasn't out of fear of him.

Clay's response was calm, "You spared my life. I am obliged to this and more. I will not fight you unless the Gathering requires us."

Duncan inclined his head for a moment in acknowledgement. Then, "Rich can handle himself."

Clay's expression turned wolf-like. He turned to Rich, "Tonight, then. At Jerusalem's little colisseum."

"Yeah whatever, man." Clay trotted off.

"So there it is, Rich. Take my head or fight Clay without it."

"I'm not a murderer, MacLeod." There was no doubt what he meant.

"You're good Rich, but you can't beat him. He has too much experience."

"I've learned some things."

"Yes, and the unarmed combat Kamir taught you is your best chance. What you need to do . . . "

"I'm not your student anymore, MacLeod."

"Then come practice with us."

"I don't trust you, any of you. Not even Joe."

Dawson stepped forward at this, "That's the steroids talking, Rich."

Ryan reddened and looked for a moment as if he was going to hurt someone. He caught himself, then began to gather his things.

Duncan put his hands loudly down on the little dining table, "Rich, odds are one of us dies tonight. Do you want to spend your last day alone? If not me, at least Joe. I won't believe you meant what you just said."

It was plaintive Duncan MacLeod at his best. Rich couldn't maintain his fury in the face of the emotion pouring out of Duncan. "We stay in public at all times, and Joe is with us."

"We can stay right here all day, if you want." Rich hesitated, then pulled out a chair. Duncan and Joe immediately followed. After a moment, Connor and Methos did as well.

The silence grew uncomfortable. Duncan didn't want to push, and Rich would be damned if he would be the one to start. Connor had been disinterested in conversation for weeks and Methos was, as usual, brooding. Finally, Joe couldn't stand it anymore, "Why, Rich?"

"Why what, Joe?" The tone was snide.

"Why the hunting? You looked for challenges before but you didn't track down easy kills. For that matter, why the one-night stands, why the drugs, why Kamir?"

Duncan gaped first at Joe, then at Rich. The watcher hadn't told him much.

Author's note:

This is my first story here. As you all know the site sends confirmations about uploaded documents. I toss them immediately. Today, I'm about to toss one when I notice it's in fact a (welcome) note from Rivana. If anyone else has sent me something, I threw it away without reading it. Yes, I am a jerk, but an unwitting one. Apologies.


	10. Last Wills and Testaments

Part 10 Last wills and testaments

"Why the hunting? You looked for challenges before but you didn't track down easy kills. For that matter, why the one-night stands, why the drugs, why Kamir?"

Rich glared at Joe, but the hate that flashed across his face when Duncan had approached wouldn't come. "It's none of your business, Dawson. Oh, I forgot who I was talking to. Everything's your business, isn't it watcher?"

"With other immortals, it's my job. With you, it's because I was worried." Joe put his hand up, "Don't give me any crap, Rich, I've saved your life more than once."

Rich was red to the tips of his ears, but kept his voice level. "Why, Joe? Why? Because I had to and because I could. I had to get stronger or I'd be dead now. I trained and I killed – maybe you've heard, it's what immortals do. As for the one-night stands, who cares?"

Duncan spoke softly, "Is that what you'd tell Tessa?"

Now Rich's face went white with fury, "No, I'd tell her to run while she could. Before you killed her. Like you killed Amanda. Like you tried to kill me."

Duncan started to shake, with rage or grief or both. He looked as if he was going to speak but no words followed. Connor didn't care about Rich and wasn't going to allow this to pass. "You know Amanda wasn't strong enough to survive the Gathering, Ryan."

"She didn't have to die yet. She could be here right now."

"And if she was, your teacher would be plotting to take her head."

"At least he wouldn't be betraying her!"

Silence fell again. Then Methos stood, "As much fun as this is during possibly my last few hours on this earth, I think I will go look for a beautiful woman to spend the rest of the day with. Failing that, I will go look for a beautiful beer."

This brought a smile to Rich's face, but a grim one. "Tell you what, MacLeod, buy me a beer and we'll call it even." The tone was of false camaraderie.

Unsurprisingly, it did not sit well with Connor. "Even? I was there when Duncan took you in, boy. You were a thief and a fool. You could have lost your head 10 different times. Instead, Duncan made you one of the best swordsmen in the world. So he tried to kill you – your life was his to take."

This didn't faze Rich, "You're right. And if he asked me to sacrifice myself, I like to think I would have. But he didn't _ask_, did he?"

It was Dawson's turn. "Rich, you've seen a lot, I know. But I'm twice your age and I've seen a lot, too. And Mac is almost 10 times my age. Methos is 10 times that. Do ya think that maybe things happened you don't completely understand? You got tricked by Ahriman, too."

"I didn't get tricked into killing anyone, Joe."

"How far away were you, Rich? Would have you killed the Horton that Ahriman made you see? Have you ever had a dark quickening? Hell, I know you've had quickenings that changed you. Why is what happened to Mac so hard to take?"

"You've seen a lot, Joe. Has someone you trusted with your life ever turned on you? And then did it again? If they did, would you go running back for a third round?"

Connor stood suddenly, "Duncan, stop wasting your time with this whelp. After last night, we both need rest. See you back at the hotel."

"He's right, MacLeod – you're wasting your time. You should be off saving a little girl's cat or something. What do you want from me, anyway? I'm not taking your head; just forget about that."

"Then I want you to forgive me, Rich." At Ryan's frozen expression, Duncan went on, "The last few days I've been forced to see how weak I am. I'm not as strong as Methos or Connor or Amanda or you. I'm not going to win the Prize and I don't deserve to. All I really want now is to help Connor if I can and to make peace with you."

"What do you want me to say, Mac? That it's all fine? It's not, it won't ever be. In a few days, it won't matter anyway."

"That's why it does matter, Rich. Look, I'm not asking you to go back to believing I'm a hero. We both know it's not true." Duncan audibly inhaled, "I'm asking you to believe that the man who tried to help you was the real me and the man who tried to kill you wasn't. The real me isn't a hero, has made thousands of stupid mistakes, but cares about you a great deal. Do you truly see me as a murderer?"

Richie stared, his face set, "No . . . No. But there's no way I'll ever trust you again."

Duncan seemed to shrink, "I understand. You can't trust me, I don't blame you. Can you forgive me?"

Rich put his eyes down, then looked at Joe. Finally, he turned back to Duncan, "Yes."

But this wasn't good enough. Duncan put his hand on his shoulder, ever so slowly, "Really, Rich?"

More firmly this time, "Yes."

At this Duncan seemed to reinflate. He stood and held out his hand, Rich stood and accepted it. "I know you can't trust me but however much of a friend I can be, I want to be. We're in the hotel across the street. Come now or later. If you want."

Rich nodded, though his face stayed blank. Duncan turned to Dawson, "I'm going back, Joe. Let me know if that phone of yours rings." He left, with what almost sounded like a song under his breath.

Joe was in the process of getting the biggest smile Rich had ever seen on that gruff old face. "You acted like a man, today, Rich. No matter what happens, no one can take that away from you."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," but Rich couldn't help responding just a little to Dawson's grin.

Methos' quest had almost immediately degenerated into a search for beer. Even that wasn't as easy as it sounded – the pull of the Gathering was stronger and the area in which he could move was smaller. Most of the remaining immortals, whether they knew it or not, could no longer venture more than few blocks from each other. Being 5000+ had many advantages, though, and one was the ability to withstand the force pulling him back, to find a bar serving acceptable beer at lunch time.

He was therefore surprised when he felt another immortal. The surprise didn't last long; Kronos may have lacked Methos' power but he had more will. "Hello, brother," he greeted cheerfully, pulling out a chair. "I was wondering whether you or Cassandra would find me first."

"She's probably boiling eye of newt in the blood of a raven." Kronos spun the chair around. He also kept his distance.

"Not going to join me?" Methos gestured to the waiter for two more. "It's MacLeod's money."

"In that case . . . " Kronos brought the chair a bit closer. They drank together, as they had three thousand years ago. "I'm going to reunite the Horsemen, you know. I'll kill you tonight, then I'll get Kaspian from MacLeod, then I'll get the quickening of that bitch who butchered Silas, from her head or someone else's."

"I don't suppose you could be persuaded to start with the bitch."

"Not so eager to fight, brother? You were, yesterday."

Methos paused for a moment, then drank. "I'm better than you, Kronos." It was said quietly and with no eye contact.

"No, you're not. Oh, I know you hold out on everyone you face. Always thinking ahead three centuries to when someone might become a genuine threat to the great Methos. And I know you think I can't beat you because I'm no better at hand-to-hand than you are."

Methos was discomfited; Kronos was being all too realistic. It was far better to have one's opponents deluded.

"But you have a weakness, Death. Guilt. Death is defeated by guilt – has a nice ring to it. You're guilty about betraying me, about betraying all of us, about Silas' dying when you might have helped him, even a little bit about Caspian. Your guilt will slow your body and mind. And I will kill you."

"You'd have a better chance taking a weaker head first. I have well over a thousand years on you, brother. I know how you struggled following me." Methos didn't know, but it was a good bet.

"Can't be helped. If it isn't me tonight, it will be the witch. And your guilt over her is so vast, she'll barely have to lift her blade."

Methos winced; Kronos was right again. He feared Cassandra more than anyone.

"That would be the end. Your power with her tricks – none of us would stand a chance."

Methos turned to look directly at Kronos for the first time, "You've been thinking, brother. I'm impressed."

"You may be the best planner, but you're not the only one." Kronos leaned forward, "For old times, then, who you are worrying over?"

"Oh, the usual. Kurgan, Grayson." Methos mentioned immortals he knew Kronos was familiar with. He saw the disdainful response. "Fine. Our host – Jerusalem."

"What? He was a boy scout 2000 years before MacLeod was born."

"And what if takes the head of someone particularly nasty?"

"You mean someone like me," Kronos interrupted with his slight smile.

"If he decided to break the rules, or even just bend them, he wouldn't have to raise a sword. He could have a small army on us with a phone call."

"Then we'd have to team up against him, brother. Just like old times." Kronos was now at full, feral grin. "What about the magician?"

Methos snorted, "Which one?" For a moment, Kronos' face flickered. So he doesn't know everything, Methos thought. Must not have gotten access to the full set of Watcher files.

"The more dangerous one."

Nice try. "I can't imagine which one you could mean."

"All right, Death. Kane."

"I honestly don't know. He's been out of action for a while. Connor MacLeod beat him before, but who knows what kinds of tricks he's come up with since."

Kronos rolled his eyes, "Are you going to tell me about the other one or not?"

Methos mused for a moment. Better Kronos win the Prize than that bastard Kell. And Kronos was one of the few who might take Kell's quickening and not join him in insanity. "Kell. Youngster but lots of heads. Unknown abilities but good enough to defeat Connor Macleod easily."

Kronos was surprised, "Then why is he still alive?"

"He's insane. He lives for torturing the Highlander."

"Then he's a fool. Never let torture get in the way of getting rid of an enemy. He'll make a mistake."

"Yes, but when?"

"Anyone else?"

"No, that about covers it."

"Brother, if you do beat me tonight, I hope it's you who claims the Prize. The Horsemen victorious at last!"

"I can't say the same, brother."

Kronos staggered backward holding his heart, "You wound me! At least tell me I'm not the worst of the lot."

"Not hardly, which is itself a scary thought." Kronos snickered and Methos finished his latest beer. He forced himself to turn to the mass murderer who had been his friend longer than any other in 5000 years of life. "We both know well that almost anything is possible but, Kronos, live this day like it will be your last."

"Don't I always?" Methos stood and extended his hand, Kronos took it, then slid his arm forward in a cross-arms link from days before Rome. They held the pose for a moment looking directly at each other. Then Kronos left, wordlessly.

The waitress watched them curiously – they didn't seem drunk. She cautiously approached, "You want another?"

"Definitely." As she turned away, Methos sighed. He would have to stop drinking soon. And while the waitress wasn't beautiful, neither was he.

end part 10


	11. Process of elimination

Part 11 Process of Elimination

Kalas

The large computer workstation was out of place in the small, non-descript room. Kalas had rented as far away from the epicenter of the Gathering as he could tolerate, in a dingy building beneath the notice of his haughty rivals. He was reviewing the latest Watcher files he had hacked onto, profiles of the winners of recent duels and how their conquests affected the quest for the Prize.

The information would have daunted a lesser will. At one point, Kalas had thought he was as good as anyone. Being beaten in short order by Duncan MacLeod, in a situation where the Highlander should have been entirely distracted, had laid that belief to rest. And the Watcher files made it clear that even MacLeod was no favorite.

Kalas was good with a sword, but not good enough. He certainly wasn't good enough in weaponless combat. The Gathering had already made cheating far more difficult. Now, under the watchful eyes of the most experienced immortals, it would be all but impossible, though Kalas still had a few ideas which might pan out.

He was also still the toughest and smartest of them all. Both Highlanders were dim bulbs, the Kurgan's bulb was out entirely. Clay was too emotional right now, Kronos second fiddle to Methos. Methos himself was a concern on the basis of intellect but Kalas had easily beaten him with a sword.

Kalas had to avoid confrontation with the truly great swordsman until he had taken another powerful quickening. Methos was the ideal target but Kalas was not stupid. He could hardly guarantee being able to challenge Methos first. The man's enemies had appeared with just a shout during the noon farce today, and Methos would be angling for whichever one was most vulnerable.

He needed a backup plan and the Watcher files provided one. The woman Cassandra was an ancient and had intriguing abilities. Further, those abilities had no doubt acted as a disincentive to her practice with a blade.

Kalas knew with certainty his will could not be swayed by a Voice or any other trick. If Methos couldn't be had, she would make an easy mark with a sword, and her quickening would provide him with the edge he needed to defeat more talented opponents.

Kamir

Kamir no longer thought of himself as a god, as the incarnation of the will of the goddess Kali. He had cast aside that belief quite suddenly, with Duncan MacLeod's blade at his neck. Only the unexpected presence of the boy Ryan had saved his life then.

He had paid the boy back, after a fashion, teaching him advanced weaponless combat techniques and introducing him to ways to increase his strength while retaining his natural youthful athleticism. He had used Ryan to screen opponents, letting him take the risks and saving easy but long-lived heads for himself.

It hadn't been enough. Kamir was possibly the best of any immortal without a sword. With a sword, he was good but, in this crowd, good was not nearly good enough. He needed another weapon in his arsenal and, here, Ryan may have saved him again.

He had pointed out a female ancient named Cassandra soon after their arrival in this pagan city. She was said to have a power of command in her voice. If he could use any part of that power just to encourage some overconfident oaf like the Kurgan to put down his sword and fight with bare hands, it could change everything.

Cassandra

Cassandra fought for the control she needed. She had found a way to apply her quickening to make the movements of her body and sword a powerful hypnotic. It wouldn't overcome the last, best immortals in history but it could slow them in that one, crucial moment which would make the difference between life and death.

She had made much progress in the last few years adding this weapon to her already considerable arsenal. But seeing Methos today unnerved her again. She was long accustomed to hating him, but the pretense he had reformed was infuriating. And Duncan still believed it. Part of her had wanted to attack Methos on the spot, part to smack Duncan until he came to his senses, part to fall to the ground in despair.

Cassandra blew out a breath. None of her, apparently, wanted to concentrate. She had to get herself under complete control or her hard-won powers would be useless. She had noticed the lack of impact of the Voice on Methos, of course. He would have to be exhausted and/or distracted for the Voice to have any effect at all.

The mild hypnotism was ideal for that distraction, but it required that every movement be perfect. One discordant note and the effect would be shattered.

If he appeared at her door right now, she would be unable to implement plans to defeat which were three millennia in the making. He would look sorrowfully at Duncan if he were present or smirk at her if Duncan wasn't, then take her head. The knowledge he gained would ensure his victory over Duncan and possibly all the rest. It was intolerable.

The one part she couldn't figure was whether the falling out with Kronos was real. Oh, she certainly believed them capable of betraying each other. Both had been half-willing to do so when she had been enslaved. But that didn't rule out a stratagem.

Appear to act independently while intercepting those who might capitalize on the other's weaknesses. When the last four were reached, turn together suddenly on their unsuspecting and unprepared opponents. Attempt to run the world together without the Prize while plotting the other's murder.

Methos would outthink Kronos at the end. She could see the look of final triumph on that vile face. He had to be stopped, rules or no rules. If her focus was uncertain, she would have to find other ways to ensure he died.

Kell

Jacob Kell was practicing, though in a way few immortals would recognize. He was practicing "magic," in this case using his quickening to do things otherwise impossible.

At the moment, he was working on his main trick: "projecting" or concentrating his quickening so that it partly blinded other immortals. He had done this against Connor MacLeod in their brief battle at the cemetery, so that the Highlander saw only a vague outline of Kell's form and could not pick up the movement of his sword until too late.

MacLeod would have worked since to compensate, so Kell had to work, too. Unfortunately, it wasn't going well. He was distracted by thoughts of his next challenge. The remaining immortals were all tough, of course, but he never entertained doubt as to his superiority. Immortals others feared, such as Haresh Clay, were no match for him.

Nonetheless, there were matters to consider. The appearance of Kane was disturbing. Kell knew of him, of course. Such a powerful enemy of MacLeod's had to be closely watched, lest he cheat Kell of his revenge. He had considered killing Kane before the magician was entombed but feared he wasn't strong enough then. Now he had his own special abilities, but the magician's powers and obsession were still worrying.

It was also a bother that he didn't want yet to take the head of Duncan MacLeod. He imagined that as the penultimate battle, if Connor's younger brother could make it that far. This left few attractive options.

The Kurgan was an atheist and a hedonist, exactly the kind the world would be purged of after Kell won the Prize. And it wasn't that Kell feared him, certainly not. But taking the quickening of such an old, powerful immortal would be disturbing. It might for a while distract him from his true aim. That, and only that, was the reason he wouldn't challenge the Kurgan.

Kell wasn't familiar with the others he'd seen, having spent his time absorbed with MacLeod. But he had heard stories of an Indian immortal who fancied himself a god. This kind of heresy was unforgivable. He didn't know the man's name but he imagined identifying him easily enough. This would be his preference tonight.

Kurgan

The Kurgan lay dozing in what passed for a park in this pathetic excuse for a city. He had amused himself by leering at extremely young girls, frightening small children, and absolutely terrifying the one and only protective parent who dared to approach. The park had emptied, as was usually the case with spaces the Kurgan occupied.

He had thought briefly about who he wished to kill tonight, but no one victim seemed superior to the others. The MacLeods were off-limits and he wouldn't be bothered fighting a woman. They could be dangerous, but no woman would win the Prize. That effete fool Ramirez was not worth the trouble, either. Kronos was too short – just the thought gave the Kurgan back pain.

Clay was a good opponent, if available. Same for Jerusalem. There were also several young immortals he was unfamiliar with, including the one with a strong quickening who threatened Connor MacLeod. That might be interesting. Or he could just wait to see if anyone wanted to die so much they challenged him. This seemed like a nice solution. Back to sleep.

Clay

Haresh Clay sat cross-legged in a very luxurious hotel room. Around him were pictures of his lost squire, Carter Wellan. Clay spoke reverently to them, "Tonight, it finally happens. We've both waited so long for this."

Clay had tried several times in the past few days, as the end of the Gathering became obvious, to consider what he would do after he avenged Carter. Offer his head to MacLeod? Fight someone honorable? Kill someone dishonorable? Seek the Prize so as to be able to keep Carter's memory alive? He had difficulty caring.

Ramirez

Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez was ready to die. He had been ready to die for nearly five centuries, since the day he had betrayed his student. He knew Heather was Connor MacLeod's one love, he had failed to protect her or die in the trying, then slunk away because he couldn't face either of them. Both of them were stronger, more courageous, better than he. Far better.

He had known of Heather's death, of Connor staying with her until the end, of Connor's loneliness since, of the Highlander searching for him. It seemed Connor had forgiven him that for which he could never forgive himself.

While watching the Highlander he had discovered the Watchers doing the same and gleaned information from them. He knew of Kell's torment of his student and almost killed the man for it three centuries ago, only to be interrupted by prying eyes. Immediately thereafter, Kell began to accumulate groups of young immortals for protection and the chance never presented itself again.

He did not interfere in the confrontation with Kane – it was part of MacLeod's training. He was too late to help against the Kurgan; the assembly and clash of four veteran immortals over just a few days had surprised everyone. There were even rumors that Connor had believed it was the Gathering.

When Connor survived the Kurgan, Ramirez stopped following him. The student had long surpassed the teacher; it was now official. Ramirez had considered offering his head but the boy was too noble to take it. He also considered using the Watchers to hunt down dark immortals but feared losing and giving them his own power.

So he wandered aimlessly, stopping immortals from preying on mortals and refusing students he did not deserve to teach. He was too well-known to infiltrate the Watchers directly but gaining access to their files every few years or so sustained his life, such as it was. He learned of Connor's latest exploits, and that of his brother Duncan.

The Gathering had been a tremendous relief. Now he would finally die. The only question was how. He wouldn't give the Kurgan or Kronos or any of those monsters his quickening. Connor wouldn't take his head, nor probably would Duncan. Their more recent companion looked suspiciously like Methos and Ramirez didn't trust him.

This left the child who had apparently killed Clay's squire or Clay himself. Ryan was ideal – Ramirez could intentionally lose to him without the boy noticing in time. If Clay got there first, Ramirez would challenge the killer of his teacher. He would either avenge Graham Ashe or, at worst, give his power to someone who fought only other immortals, not mortals.

End part 11


	12. If you can keep your head

Part 12 If you can keep your head

As he told the others, Connor MacLeod went back to the hotel to work out. But it hadn't worked out.

He couldn't focus, his mind returning to last night's disaster. In his desire for battle, whipped up by the Gathering, sparring with Methos, and the death of Amanda, he had rushed to challenge the weakest opponent. The giant had taken plenty of heads, but he was barely a century old.

While his enemies grew significantly stronger, he had gained little. If he lost tonight, it was over. But even if he won, it would be his last victory unless he absorbed an exceptionally strong quickening.

Worse, the obvious opponents weren't suitable. Challenging the Kurgan now would leave him free to attack Duncan if Connor lost, and Connor wouldn't risk it. Kell would be looking to avoid him until the end and Connor couldn't count on getting to him.

Kane was powerful through a kind of magic, and one night with Kane's quickening before the next challenges was hardly enough for Connor to learn to use that magic. The same held true for Cassandra. Truth be told, after the incident with the Voice today, he feared her.

Clay had challenged Richie. Of course, he wouldn't fight Duncan or Ramirez or, as much as he sometimes wanted to, Methos. He might get to Kronos, but more likely he and Methos would already be matched.

That left the woman who attacked Amanda, Grayson, Kalas, Kamir, this Jerusalem, plus others he didn't know about.

He was skeptical of Jerusalem's power, as he'd never heard of him. The woman was capable but he doubted she'd taken as many heads as the remaining male warriors. Similarly, Kamir was dangerous due to his hand-to-hand skills and most likely had a weaker quickening than Grayson or Kalas, who were significantly older. Too much risk, not enough reward.

Grayson and Kalas were the most promising. Fine swordsmen but not unbeatable. Ancients. Kalas was more cunning and likely had his ideal opponent sized up. Grayson was better with a blade but probably more available.

It was settled. He would check on Kell and Kronos but, unless he could get to them immediately, it would be Grayson.His mind finally cleared as he heard Duncan return.

His brother practically ran to Connor, embracing him. "He forgave me! He looked me in the eye and said he meant it!" Duncan could be such a boy. What did his friends call him, the boy Scot?

"Your student? Didn't think he had it in him."

"Well, he did. Does." Duncan slowed a little. "An enormous weight has been lifted from my shoulders."

"That's wonderful." The younger man still bounced. "We could practice, if you like." Duncan MacLeod, one of the most feared swordsmen in history, unsheathed his katana with a grin so wide it seemed his face might crack. "You should practice that look, Duncan, it will scare the hell out of Kalas."

They dueled for some time, Connor pursuing and Duncan nicking him. Connor shared his thinking about tonight. His brother agreed, whereupon Connor slugged him. "Any pointers for Grayson? You've fought him."

Duncan locked up Connor's blade, then half-flipped him. "He's a technician like me, but more experienced. No hand-to-hand, though. Push him around."

Connor nodded his thanks, "We should think about you, as well."

Duncan hesitated, "Can we wait for Methos?" Connor frowned – he had been the wise old man until Methos appeared.

"We should still consider possibilities. After last night, I need the power of an ancient. What do you need?" Duncan's response was interrupted by the signature feeling of an immortal. Connor frowned again – it was weak. Was someone in trouble?

Duncan noticed his puzzlement, "It's Richie. Rich." Moments later, Dawson stepped through the door, breathing heavily. Rich followed, another half-sneer on his face.

"Big news, Mac," Dawson managed between gulps of air. "Someone just killed Grayson."

Connor swore, generating odd looks from Dawson and Ryan. Duncan glanced at him sympathetically then turned back to the watcher, "Any leads?" He knew Dawson would have said immediately if the killer had been identified.

"Not yet. The quickening was seen in an alley not five minutes from our lunchtime fiesta. Our woman got there right after it ended. She couldn't stick around because half the city was on the way. I'm not sure even that guy with all the contacts can fix this."

"We might be OK, there. At least if we can keep clear of the police until night." It didn't need to be said that any immortal would be a suspect. All had swords and irregularities, or worse, in their records. "We can stay at his place until it's all over. I'm more worried about who was able to do this in broad daylight."

"It had to be Kane. He could make any witnesses see whatever he wanted." Connor was somber, "Kane with an ancient quickening; this is a disaster."

"Maybe not, Connor. Kalas could have stalked Grayson and would have no problem cheating. Gun him down, take his head, be strong enough to move right after the quickening, and have a place nearby to hole up. He's capable."

"So's Kamir," put in Ryan. "With all the immortals around masking his presence, he might have taken Grayson by surprise. If so, he could have immobilized him in a second."

"I'm not sure Kamir's strong enough to take Grayson's quickening and get clear that quickly, Rich," Duncan replied carefully.

"He, uh, might have found some stuff to help him do that." There was silence as everyone considered an immortal with advanced pharmaceuticals and without ethics or concern for the future beyond this week.

"It could be Cassandra," Dawson interjected, "If Grayson couldn't resist the Voice, she could beat him without a real fight. She's an ancient -- she could handle his quickening. There's also Guanyin . . ."

Connor interrupted, "We don't need speculation from you, watcher. Start using that contraption you have permanently attached to your hand."

Dawson was slightly taken aback, but did as told. Rich looked at Connor, "Grayson a friend?" His tone made it clear he didn't care.

Duncan stepped between them before things got ugly. "His next challenge."

Rich lost his sneer for a moment, then shrugged, "Pick someone else."

Connor snorted, "Duncan must have taught you well, boy, because you didn't make it here on brains." Rich had his sword out immediately; fortunately, he couldn't get past Duncan as quickly.

"Rich, Connor's a bit thrown. It's not easy to find the right opponent. Someone you can beat, who will help you tomorrow and the next day."

Rich kept his sword in hand, but stopped trying to sidestep Duncan. "At least that's one problem I don't have."

Connor thought, "If you want, Ryan, I'll take Clay and you can choose someone else."

"But he already challenged me."

"If we get there first and someone draws a sword against you, Clay would have to wait. Then if I challenged him, he'd have to accept. The talk now is cheap, it only matters when we're all together."

Rich was silent for several minutes, while Dawson chattered in the background. "Nah. Thanks, but this is how it should be."

Duncan spoke cautiously again, trying not to drive Rich away, "You have no reason to feel guilty."

"I don't feel guilty. But Clay's going to come until he gets me and it's not like there are easy marks out there, instead."

Duncan was going to respond that there were weaker opponents, then decided it might not be true. Clay was skilled and powerful, but he would be emotional with Richie . . . Rich, partly offsetting his superior experience. The others would likely just carve Rich up, slowly but surely.

Connor was thinking aloud, "Kalas would do as well as Grayson; I just don't know if I can get him. Same with Kell and Kronos."

Duncan recognized how worried his brother was, "Whoever killed Grayson only has half a day to absorb his quickening," implying they were a good target.

Connor promptly shouted at Dawson, who waved him off. Connor advanced on the watcher, to be intercepted by his brother, "Why don't you and Rich spar? Good practice for both." And will burn off some frustration, Duncan added silently.

Connor turned back to Rich in an instant, blade in hand. Rich started to protest that he still didn't trust either Highlander, only to realize this was a good reason to draw his sword. What may or may not have been just a sparring session was interrupted by another buzz. Seeing his companions face the door, Dawson did the same.

In walked Methos, "You might want to use the lock."

Connor closed on him, sword still drawn, "Where have you been, old man? Out plotting with your friend, your real friend?" If Methos was surprised by Rich's presence or Connor's behavior, he didn't show it.

"Something like that."

Connor put the tip of his blade at Methos' chest, "How much like that?"

Dawson cleared his throat, "I have information on who didn't kill Grayson, at least."

"What? Grayson's dead?"

Duncan put his hand on Methos' shoulder, steering him away from Connor, "You'd know, if you weren't out gallivanting."

All eyes went to Dawson, "It wasn't Cassandra. After she left, she headed in the opposite direction. She lost her watcher for a while but not long enough to circle back."

"My money's on Kalas. Have you located him, Joe?"

Dawson shook his head, "Not since he got off the plane. And we didn't even know Kane was here."

"Kamir?," from Rich.

"That's what I've been hearing about. His watcher is dead. Strangled. Nothing taken, so not a robbery. Had to be Kamir."

Rich's voice didn't waver, "Didn't want anyone knowing what he's up to. Doesn't mean he killed Grayson."

"We've accounted for Kronos, too," Joe said flatly.

"Have you accounted for the other Horseman?" Connor's sword was still drawn and his gaze still on Methos.

"I realize he would have been a good opponent for you, Highlander, but if I killed Grayson, I'd say so."

Duncan broke in, "It would be easier, Methos, if we knew where you were."

"None of your business."

Duncan was annoyed with Methos, but accustomed to it. And he was the only one to play peace-maker. "Then be useful. Rich is set on Clay. What about the rest of us?"

Methos paused. It was against his nature to be open but they'd know in a few hours, anyway. And it might help them focus, "Kronos will accompany us to Jerusalem's little oasis. That way no one can interfere."

At this, Connor relaxed slightly. Duncan continued, "Suggestions for Connor and me?"

"I agree, Connor, you need more power. Challenge Kell. Fighting you this early will throw him off."

"What if I can't get to him?"

"Do you think you can take Cassandra?" Connor shook his head ruefully. "Then whoever killed Grayson, as long as it isn't Kane."

"Why not Kane? I can beat him again."

"The longer he has to wait for you, the angrier and sloppier he'll get." Surprisingly, the Highlander nodded slightly. He then walked to a far corner of the room, to stare at Dawson.

"And?" Duncan asked.

"The first person you are willing to kill who isn't crazy. No Kell or Kurgan or Clay."

Duncan was not happy with the apparent sarcasm in reference to his emotional outburst last night. But when he moved to confront Methos, he didn't see the expected smirk. "Old man, I had every right to be upset. It doesn't mean I'm unstable."

Methos' face and tone were unforgiving, "It isn't about last night. MacLeod, you have no weaknesses as a fighter. But you're already obsessive. Given time, you could deal with most quickenings, I'm sure. But we don't have time, and you can't rely on Connor and I to take care of you anymore. If you won't admit to your weaknesses, you might as well really let someone here take your head."

Duncan grabbed Methos' arm, "And what's your weakness?"

"Guilt. Or so I've been told."

end part 12


	13. Death march

Part 13 Death March

Considering what was to come, it was an uneventful late afternoon and evening. Connor wanted Duncan to show him two specific martial arts moves. Rich looked like he wanted to jump in, but held back. Methos meditated.

They ordered dinner to the room and ate in silence. Dawson narrowed down Grayson's killer to one of Kalas, Kamir, or Kane but could get no further, seeing as none of them had been seen by the Watchers since noon. Finally, he threw his hands up, "That's it."

Methos instantly begin to plan, "If possible, we need to get them all tonight, before whoever it is can fully absorb Grayson's quickening. But I'm already tied to Kronos, Rich to Clay, and neither of you should face Kane tonight." Connor agreed while Duncan scowled. Methos moved on quickly to avoid the argument, "MacLeod, you've beaten them both. Which pairing is best for you and your brother?"

"Connor's better than Kalas and Kamir is more of a danger to Connor than to me, so I'll take him. But Methos, if one of them already has a challenge, I'm going after Kane. I am hardly going to become obsessed with killing Connor."

"No, you'll probably become obsessed with killing Kell or Kronos."

"Then you better take care of Kronos for me."

There was only a brief pause. "Speak of the devil," Methos said a moment before the others felt the tingling.

Connor was unfailingly suspicious, "Why is he here now? It's not even 10 and we aren't supposed to be there until midnight. It's a long walk, but not that long."

"This way no one will be able to interfere along the way."

"He really wants you, doesn't he."

"He's reuniting the Horsemen, all in one head. He'll win the Prize and we'll ride again, with 3 less horses, terrorizing the world while Kronos talks to himself."

"Why not start with me, then? I've got Caspian," from Duncan.

Kronos swept the door open. "If I don't get Methos tonight, Cassandra will."

"We really do need to lock that."

"I'm surprised the witch isn't here, already. Kane for you, Highlander. Clay for your head, whelp."

"I'm sure they all will be, shortly. That's why we're leaving now." Methos grabbed his bag and the other immortals did the same. Dawson chattered into his computer.

As they got to street level, an Immortal buzz became unmistakable. There, standing in almost the exact same spot he had at lunch, was Clay. He grinned broadly at Rich. "Perhaps you can help me. I'm lost and looking for a nice safe place where I can send you to hell."

"I'm sure I'll see your friend there." Clay lost his grin immediately but otherwise remained calm. Methos pointed the way and they all fell in step. If Clay or Kronos were surprised a mortal was accompanying them, they gave no sign.

Connor looked around carefully, but neither saw nor felt anything. If Kane was here, he was keeping some distance. Dawson was struggling a bit and Duncan set the pace to match his. "Cassandra ditched her watcher again. I thought for sure she'd be here, too."

"Probably working on something especially nasty," Kronos was cheerful.

The walk was as long as Connor remembered, with the added inconvenience of carrying extra clothes, provisions, and swords, in case they were unable to leave the compound once assembled. They'd all need a short rest after arriving. The only positive was the absence of police.

About halfway there, Dawson's computer started to sing out. "Others are starting to move, or at least the ones we can still see."

Duncan put a hand on his shoulder, "Time for you to go your own way, Joe."

Dawson hugged him. "Good luck, Mac. Hope to see you tomorrow."

"May not happen, Joe. Even if I win."

"Then I'll see you through some field glasses. Don't forget to wave." Dawson moved on to Rich, "You've been like the son I thank G-d every day for never Giving me."

Despite himself, Rich chuckled, then embraced Dawson firmly. Joe looked a bit surprised, turned to Methos, then glanced at Clay, "Adam . . ."

Methos had a rueful look, "It's not much of a secret anymore, but I appreciate it." He moved within a step of Dawson but did not touch him, "You're one of the best men I've ever known, Joe. Take care of yourself."

Joe nodded and trudged off, his cane smacking the ground a bit more loudly than usual.

Kronos made vomiting noises, Clay stared uncaringly into the distance, and the group resumed their trek. As their destination grew nearer, it became obvious there was a cluster of immortals not too far behind, whether of their own volition or forced to follow by the force of the Gathering when their group had departed.

This was hardly a shock. What was surprising was the light visible over Jerusalem's arena, at a significant distance. As they approached, some of it appeared to be fire, though there was no smoke. The walls themselves pulled apart automatically, as they had the previous night, revealing a duel already, spectacularly in progress.

It was Kane. Several images of him, in fact. Lights and at least the illusion of fire danced around and above him. His opponent was a thin Chinese woman of medium height. She sought and found Kane through the distractions, leaping, bouncing, and rolling in combinations to make an Olympic gymnast proud. Methos glanced at Kronos, who nodded immediately: this was the woman who killed Silas.

Jerusalem was moving toward them unhurriedly. "Welcome friends. And Kronos." Duncan snorted while Kronos wore his usual, contemptuously curled lip. "No need to stop, they've been at this for quite some time."

Methos raised his eyebrows in query.

Jerusalem responded, "Guanyin is an old friend." Now Clay snorted. Their host proceeded with exaggerated dignity, "She came for dinner. Afterward, something tripped my security system." This time Kronos looked at Methos, pointedly. "Nothing on the monitors and unannounced visitors are obviously not welcome, so we took a look ourselves. I sense an immortal, but see nothing. A moment later, Guanyin screams and leaps and Kane materializes from air to parry. She's been chasing him for at least 15 minutes and no sign of either faltering."

They walked to the largest building in the compound, the clash of swords in the background. "15 beds and faucets, all separated by steel doors. Large double windows open out, only. No one will surprise you."

"Are there 30 left, then?" from Connor.

"Less. I had this built, rebuilt really, a few years ago. The workers thought it was a children's camp." He chuckled. "Drop your bags here. They will all be openly searched after everyone arrives."

Kronos, "And what if someone does not wish to follow your rules?"

"Then they'll be shot before we search their bags."

"We?"

"There are security personnel on the compound, only for tonight. After everyone arrives and is checked, they will depart and the security system will be activated, while you watch. You may verify tomorrow that only immortals remain here and no one can get in without you knowing. If you're still alive."

Kronos was not satisfied, "That still leaves you to set traps. You could gas all the rooms tonight but yours. You could . . ."

Jerusalem interrupted, "Really, Kronos, does that sound like me? Perhaps this will placate you: my challenge tonight will be the Kurgan."

A slow smile spread on the Horseman's face. "Very well. And I'm sure you don't mind if we look around, hmm?"

"Just don't attack any of the guards. Unless you want to end up riddled with bullets and relying on the kindness of the nearest immortal who almost certainly hates you."

He headed back toward the battle between Kane and Guanyin, leaving them to choose their rooms, such as they were. Methos simply dropped his bag where he was and followed. After a moment, the rest did as well.

"So much for who's going to challenge Kane," Duncan muttered as they watched.

"We could challenge him if he wins," from Connor.

Jerusalem did not turn away from the fight, "Full recovery between duels. As a practical matter, that means waiting until tomorrow night, when it's safer to have quickenings flying about."

Kronos laughed, "After the Kurgan takes your head, we'll do as we please."

Jerusalem had an answer even for that, "The groups can enforce the rules on any individuals until we get to the last four. Then one duel can be held outside the walls, the other inside. The Gathering will make sure the last two won't stay separated."

Kronos fell silent. Methos smiled approvingly at his friend.

Attention turned back to the action. Guanyin was clearly stalking Kane. He was using his mystical abilities to hide, then appear when an opening was presented. In response, she was using her gymnastic skills to try to lure him with false opportunities. The two seemed to know each other's fighting styles very well.

"They got all those Chinese martial arts movies wrong." All eyes turned to Richie . . . Rich. "Well, don't you think these two are the inspiration? But there's no flying and everything moves much faster than in the films."

"How could you have time to practice so much?"

Guanyin and Kane were now pacing each other, resting a bit. Moments later, an unseen intercom voice asked if additional visitors should be admitted. Jerusalem merely nodded; obviously, they were being monitored.

Cassandra was first to walk through, causing each of the men to clench one part of their body or another. The wall doors remained open to admit Kalas, who seemed as if he had been running. Shortly thereafter, Kell strolled through. Jerusalem went to greet them. They spoke briefly, but then Cassandra raced toward Methos, with Kalas again trailing her. Kell was watching the Guanyin-Kane marathon, very closely.

"I challenge you Methos, as soon as that fight is over." She wasn't using the Voice; instead, she was practically screaming.

"Sorry, already have a partner." Methos' response was deliberately quiet.

Cassandra's eyes widened, then widened further when Kronos stepped forward and sniggered, "Too late, crone. Don't look so unhappy – you'll get to see one of us die tonight. If you can keep your head that long."

Kalas arrived at the scene, "Since you are apparently so eager to fight an ancient, milady, I offer myself. And it is an offer you may not decline."

Cassandra appeared to be in shock. She ignored Kalas, staring wide-eyed at her arch-enemies, "You're going to fight here, now, in front of all of us?"

Kronos rolled his eyes, "Still a blithering idiot, I see." He walked toward Kell and the duel.

"I told you I've changed, Cassandra. I know you won't believe it now but, after I kill Kronos, will you finally accept my apology?" Now Duncan and Connor were looking wide-eyed at Methos.

Cassandra regained her composure, "I'll accept it right after I take your head."

She moved toward the main building but Kalas caught her arm, "First, you'll have to take mine."

"As you wish."

An announcement of more visitors came and the walls opened to reveal Ramirez. Connor had been absorbed in the confrontation among the ancients but now ran to his teacher, lost to him for centuries. Ramirez, however, either intentionally ignored Connor or didn't see him in his own eagerness. He walked swiftly toward where Kell was observing the battle, drawing his sword in the process. A challenge was apparently given and accepted.

"No!" yelled Connor. Ramirez face cracked on the sight of his former student, but immediately hardened again. He had prepared for the reunion as best he could.

"Kell is mine, Ramirez." There was desperation in Connor's voice, from multiple sources.

"Too late, Connor," Kell was smug.

Connor ignored him, "Ramirez, stand aside. Let me kill him."

"I'm sorry, my friend, I can't do that."

Connor was set to rage at him about betrayal and abandonment, but controlled himself long enough to drag them both away from Kell. "Ramirez, you called me brother. For the sake of that, stand aside. Kell has tormented me for centuries. You must know it."

Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez was close to openly weeping. He wanted to explain about his aborted attempt to stop Kell 200 years earlier, about wanting his love for Connor to infuse Kell if he lost, about so many things. But he knew it would take months, not minutes, to center himself again after such an outburst. "I'm sorry, brother. This is for the best."

End part 13


	14. Paying the rent

Part 14 Paying the rent

"I'm sorry, brother. This is for the best."

There was no mistaking the rage in Connor. A few feet away, Kell was chuckling. Ramirez dropped his voice and continued, "I know of an ideal opponent for you, however. A young Indian known as Kamir. He killed Grayson earlier today. He had to cheat to do it. That's a powerful quickening for you to gain from a weak enemy."

There were very few things which would have diverted Connor MacLeod at that moment, but here was one. "How do you know this?"

"I watched it from the same vantage point I watched your dashing performance with Methos and friends today."

Forces pulled Connor in different directions. Finally, he ran again, back to Duncan and Methos. "It was Kamir."

Methos shrugged, "Better than Kane winning that fight and this one."

"Is he winning?"

"No one's winning. I'm not sure anyone's fighting." This was from Rich. The group – now Rich, Connor, Methos, and Duncan – moved back toward the battle.

Kronos was expressing disgust on the same topic, "This will go on forever. The stage is too large, we need to wall it off and force people to fight."

Connor had a brief moment of wonder. Their foursome was flanked on one side by Kell, Ramirez, and Clay and on the other by Jerusalem, Kronos, and Kalas. Cassandra would soon join them. What an incredible wealth of power, skill, and knowledge the Gathering had brought together. It wouldn't last, of course, not even for a few more hours. That is, if this challenge would ever end.

Connor watched Kane more closely. He was difficult but not impossible to follow in the light and shadow his mystical abilities afforded. Guanyin seemed to be able to do it but some of the others looked utterly bewildered. It made sense – Connor had experience with Kane. He had to agree with Rich that Kane, at least, was stalling. Was Guanyin stronger? Connor wasn't sure.

Then the answer hit: Kane wasn't sure, either. Guanyin was an ancient and he was centuries out of practice. This wasn't just a challenge, it was a refresher course. No wonder Kane was trying to draw it out. The second, much more painful realization was that he could have had this early crack at a rusty Kane. Another chance lost, and far worse than the one with Grayson. If his bitter enemy won tonight, he would both be sharper and have taken the head of an ancient. The metallic taste of panic suddenly filled Connor's mouth: he couldn't keep missing these opportunities. He pulled Duncan aside.

"Duncan, I know we agreed that I'd take Kalas and you Kamir but Kalas got to Cassandra and . . ." Duncan looked at him steadily, but said nothing. "I need Kamir. I need Kamir or Kane will take my head tomorrow."

"Connor, you know you don't even have to ask."

The older man grabbed his brother's shoulders for a moment, smiling. Then his brow furrowed, "So who's left for you? We don't even know, do we?" They trotted over to Methos. "Kamir and the Kurgan aren't here yet, Methos. Who else is missing?"

Methos shrugged again, "How should I know? Why is it that you two children think I know everything? I'm surprised you can still think at all, since all you do whenever you can't figure something out immediately is ask me."

Connor raised an eyebrow at Duncan; obviously, Methos was getting nervous about the upcoming fight with Kronos. Duncan nudged him and pointed at Jerusalem, who was intent on watching his friend fight Kane. In his usual subtle manner, Connor stepped into his line of sight, "Who's left?"

Jerusalem stepped around Connor, keeping his eyes on Guanyin. But he answered, "Only three more. I invited 18 but two were killed in the city and I killed one snooping around here after returning from the noontime show."

The Highlanders exchanged glances – someone else had been killed in the city today, in addition to Grayson. "Are you sure you didn't miss anyone?"

"I don't believe so. Even if did, at this point they would be forced to come here by the pull of all of us."

"And we'd end up with an odd number of challenges."

"We can just have the Kurgan take the last person to arrive."

"Ya snooze, ya loose your head." Richie piped in from behind them.

There was an announcement of a visitor. The doors separated to reveal the tank-like woman. Connor looked significantly at Duncan but, before the younger Scot could take a step, the woman was charging straight for him. "Have you been challenged," she was almost shouting. Duncan shook his head. She stopped within a few feet, "Then it will be the two of us."

Jerusalem pulled himself away from the ongoing battle and escorted her back to the building. Methos approached, "She had you picked out before walking in the door. She thinks you're vulnerable after Amanda's death. And I think she's right."

"Go brood somewhere else, old man."

"Plus there's the legendary Duncan MacLeod gallantry. Will you fight her with one hand tied behind your back? Allow her to retrieve her sword after you disarm her? We can't bully such a small woman, can we?" Methos' voice grew quieter, "She's well over 1000 years older than you are. Unless you are willing to use your reach to slice her up, her height gives her the advantage in defense. Too bad, there's no gain from wagering anymore. I could make a pretty penny betting against the great swordsman Duncan MacLeod tonight."

Duncan turned and confronted him, "Is there a point?"

Methos grabbed him by the collar. "I've seen her file; I know who she's killed. If you are distracted, if you hesitate, if you don't use all of your fighting skills, and not just the pretty ones, you won't see the sunrise." He stalked off.

Connor was about to put in his two cents when the announcement came again. The Kurgan was admitted. He ambled over to the Guanyin-Kane fight. The walls stayed open and, shortly thereafter, Kamir tottered through. He appeared almost drunk. Duncan began, "He must . . ." but Conner was already gone.

The older Scot ignored convention, and his own pride, running at Kamir. He drew his sword but did not raise it, coming face to face with the powerfully built Indian, "At the first opportunity." No matter Kamir's odd physical state, his eyes seemed clear and there was no mistaking the meaning. Challenge had been given and accepted. Connor let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for hours.

Jerusalem headed over to the two new arrivals, sending Kamir on his way to the main building. He then whispered briefly to the Kurgan, who grinned and went back to watching Guanyin's endless chase.

As Kamir returned, Jerusalem spoke loudly enough for all to hear, with the possible exception of the two combatants. "There is no one else in sight. We are all that's left."

At that moment, Kane appeared as clear as day and not 5 meters away. His eyes narrowed and he strode toward Guanyin.

"That got his attention, I guess," from Rich.

Duncan remarked, "And no more smoke and mirrors."

Ramirez had joined the group, "Guanyin knows him too well for those to work."

Rich again, "Then why waste all this time, and why change now?"

Connor knew this one, "He needed the practice. Now he's afraid another battle will begin and he won't be able to observe." Duncan looked at his brother. "No one here will miss a thing, Duncan. Methos was right, if you aren't at your best tonight, you'll lose quickly and nastily."

The nature of the duel had completely changed. Now Kane was the pursuer, with Guanyin bouncing around him with seemingly limitless stamina and agility. Oddly, neither was exceptional with a sword. Good certainly, but below average for this group.

A wind blew in, clearly manipulated by Kane. He used the dirt and sand whipped up as a distraction to press his attack, but Guanyin was more than equal to this task. She somersaulted into what looked like a blind cut but one which unerringly bit into his sword shoulder. The weapon dropped. Almost immediately, duplicate Kanes appeared. Guanyin had to clear her eyes for a moment but then spotted her target. She leaped in between the real Kane and his sword and advanced on him, eyes moving with his shimmering image.

A moment later, her eyes widened and stared straight down. Kane's sword had been lifted off the ground by the mystical wind and cut into her calf. There wasn't much force behind the sword, but it was still enough to slice the muscle completely. It would take a two or three minutes for that heal fully.

Richie's "Oh shit!" breached the stunned silence.

A moment later, a weaponless Kane was on her, immobilizing her sword arm with his own. Guanyin couldn't run; she couldn't even plant her feet due to the wound. Kane had leverage, strength, and surprise. He wrested the blade from his crippled opponent, and beheaded her with it as she move away. The observing immortals scattered as the quickening began. It was as impressive as to be expected from an ancient. Kane had added considerable power.

The moment it ended, Jerusalem ran forward and stood over Kane, sword drawn, but clearly pointed at the rest of the group. Anyone who wanted to tilt the odds in their favor by taking a helpless head was out of luck. When Kane stumbled over to reclaim his own sword, Jerusalem left his side.

He moved to roughly the center of the now dispersed group, "I believe the rest of us are now matched. The Kurgan and I will go last, so that I am sure to be available for a bit longer to deal with police or other intruders." There was no reaction from the group. "As I have informed you separately, your belongings are being searched. You will see the security personnel depart and may check the grounds before we resume. But there is a fee for my hospitality: you must listen in the meantime."

"You have no doubt speculated as to why the Gathering is here. I believe one reason is this area has the highest concentration of holy ground." There were a few grunts. "I have spent centuries mapping it. It is hardly limited to known places of worship. Most of the territory between Bethlehem and the Old City is holy ground."

"With so much unmarked holy ground, I have witnessed a number of heads taken where they should not be, usually unknowingly. There have been several more in the past few days. Have all seen the result of a head taken on Holy Ground?" Now there was noticeable stirring. Duncan looked at Methos, who was expressionless.

Their host continued, "Apparently not. The quickening does not seek the immortal who released it. Instead, it is absorbed into the ground itself. There is no immediate punishment I know of for taking a head on holy ground but there is no gain, either. The energy of the quickening remains faintly present for some time and is rejuvenated and increased if another quickening is lost nearby. This has given credence to stories of ghosts, haunting of burial grounds and the like. The second reason for the location of the Gathering is the significant number of quickenings here absorbed by holy ground."

"I ask you, what makes holy ground? Is it us, the princes of the universe? No, it is them. Their beliefs, their history, their faiths; they have dictated the site of the Gathering. It is also possible the timing of the Gathering was determined when the extent or energy of the holy ground in this area reached a certain level. That makes sense on many levels. I know some of you consider mortals to be mere playthings for your amusement. When in the end there is only one, you would do well to recall their power."

"Jerusalem" is obviously a plot device I felt necessary for an interesting Gathering. Plus I wanted to make a speech which didn't sound right in Methos' or Connor's mouths. Sorry if there is too much of him, but I wanted to attach at least a bit of personality.


	15. Eight is enough

Chapter 15 Eight is enough

A bit ugly at the end

Cassandra had stayed well clear of the others during Kane's victory and Jerusalem's speech. She didn't want to take the chance that anyone would spot the evidence of what she was planning. She also wanted as much time as possible to prepare for the Methos-Kronos winner. From her vantage point, she saw Clay heading toward Duncan's young student, murder etched into his steps. She got to Kalas first.

He smiled at the first parry, "I appreciate an eager woman." As their swords rang out, Rich headed toward the new duel. This put his back to Clay, who was forced to pursue. A moment later, Jerusalem was in front of Clay, shaking his head. They exchanged words, finally Clay nodded and Jerusalem went to Rich. Rich nodded, then Jerusalem gestured upward, provoking some fairly loud activity above them.

Cassandra and Kalas were now the main event. They tested each other, circling slowly and feinting, examining instinctive reactions and quickness. Cassandra already knew from Duncan that Kalas was a better swordsman than she. She also suspected that, as an ancient, the Voice wouldn't work on him, at least not straightaway. That left her only with options she had wanted to save for Methos. She knew what her audience expected, though, so she began to Speak, "Your weapon is heavy, Kalas, your arms are heavy. You can barely move. You want to rest." For a moment, Kalas slowed.

Then he shook it off, and grinned at her again, "You'll have to do better than that."

Cassandra gave the appearance of shock, as if she had no idea what to do next. She hurried away, simulating a desperate need to think. Kalas pursued at almost a dead run, either believing the charade or wanting to crowd her for his own reasons. They soon moved out of clear sight of the remaining immortals. Cassandra didn't want to make the stratagem that obvious, so she circled back toward the group. Then out of sight again. Out of Methos' sight.

And so she was ready to employ her second ability. Kalas had faltered for a moment under the Voice. If she could focus enough to control her movements properly, their hypnotic effect combined with the Voice should make him susceptible to her command, if only for a few seconds. That would have to be enough. She turned to fight.

"I was beginning to think you didn't want me after all."

Cassandra ignored the feeble attempts at provocation. Compared to the burning hatred she felt for Methos and Kronos, a few insinuations from this oaf didn't amount to a matchstick. Kalas was more aggressive now, but still holding back to some extent. This was, of course, the smart thing to do, to see what other tricks she had before committing himself fully. In this case, however, it allowed her to stand her ground and start the hypnotic process. She weaved elaborately, while being as aggressive as possible to quell his suspicions.

"Unusual style you have, my dear. Though it certainly has won the attention of our audience."

Cassandra felt a flash of panic, had Methos or Kronos followed them? No, it was a guard, several of them actually. This was bad enough, having one of the guards show up in a hypnotized state would tip off any of the immortals who knew her. She had to find someplace clear of all observers. Unfortunately, she couldn't just run off into the distance again – Kalas would become suspicious. So back toward the immortals she took him, then back to the guards, finally heading for an isolated area she had finally spotted. Only to find that the taunting voice did not follow this last time.

She turned to see why. Kalas was standing near the guards she had most recently fled. His pose was imperious, "Stand and fight . . . you witch!" he huffed.

He huffed. Kalas was out of breath. It took some time for this to register. Yes, he appeared overweight by immortal standards, but that meant little. Jerusalem's security precautions meant Cassandra herself would appear to be carrying extra pounds. Even if Kalas was genuinely overweight, this did not mean his conditioning was poor. Immortals were naturally physically vigorous, it was easy for them to stay very fit in the ways that mattered to their kind. And by mortal standards, Kalas had already shown he was fit. But, by immortal standards, he was apparently not.

It was an opportunity, and one she had to take. Kalas would no longer follow her and refusing to fight take in front of any prying eyes would simply ensure that Methos would make sure to spy on her. It was a risk relying purely on her sword but, if she could use Kalas weakness to kill him, she could save her own strengths for the real battle. She ran back down toward him, "Fight yes, stand no."

The duel began anew. Kalas was no longer holding back. This was the most dangerous time, as he was better than her and only a bit tired. He didn't have as many variations in his style as Duncan but his blows were powerful and precise. If she was late with a parry, she'd be nicked or, worse, see her sword twisted out of her hands. She had to make him work.

They circled, Cassandra moving as much as possible and forcing him to come to her. He started to cut her occasionally -- shallow, scattered slices. The first one had healed by the time the third wound was inflicted, but more followed. The blood loss and the constant feeling of her own quickening were beginning to induce light-headedness. Kalas was definitely more tired than she, but he was also winning. The smirk on his reddened face indicated that he shared this view.

It was time to gamble. She went on the attack, leaving herself open to more wounds but forcing Kalas to use more energy. She also began talking to him, using the Voice, "You're angry, Kalas. This fight has to end now. I'm weakened. Don't give me any chance to rest! Come and kill me!" It would only have a slight impact, but even that could prove crucial.

She moved up one of the staircases used by the guards to stand sentry on the walls surrounding the compound, slowly enough to make sure he followed. Once on the wall, she fought him head-on for as long as she could, before a slash at her ribs almost ended it. Then she maneuvered into the spot she had chosen, continuing to goad him. When she turned to make her stand, it was barely 10 more seconds before he disarmed her, sending her sword flying down to the ground, back to near where the remaining immortals watched. She leaped after it without hesitation, landing and rolling heavily, suffering broken bones and other injuries. Through the pain of the impact, she heard Kalas cursing. But he did not crash down next to hear.

Instead, he was running down the steps, seeking to reach her sword before she recovered. If he did, it was over. Her eyes found the blade and willed a healing but battered body to roll toward it. She had the hilt, but not enough strength yet to stand and fight. Kalas was now off the steps and running, not very impressively, on flat ground in her direction. She needed to stand. In the background, she heard encouragement from Duncan. Without her, he would fall to Methos' plot. She had to win.

She reached her feet as Kalas arrived. His blow to her neck was much lighter than his previous efforts. Her parry was soft, as well, but her body was recovering from the fall faster than his was from the physical exertion. For the first time, she was getting stronger and he weaker. She continued to use the Voice, urging him to attack. Her quickening soon stopped pounding in her ears – she was as healed and strong as she was going to be after all the wounds. Kalas' attack was faltering, his fatigue winning out over rage and the small effects of the Voice.

Cassandra was not the gymnast Guanyin was. She didn't have anything like the martial arts abilities Duncan had. But she was still an exceptional athlete, very good even by immortal standards and certainly better than Kalas. She had a 3,000 year-old quickening, fortified by the heads taken during the Gathering. She moved away from him for separation, sheathed her sword, took a running start, and vaulted right over him. He was too surprised to swipe at her over his head and his turn and slash as she landed was late and blind. She managed to parry, if barely, and deliver the real blow: a kick to the solar plexus.

Kalas red face went white. An hour ago, the blow would have been trivial. Now it forced the last bit of wind out of his lungs. He fell to his knees, his eyes wide with realization of what she had been doing. His sword was still extended in front of him but barely even steady. Cassandra tied it up with her own blade, then kicked again, through his feeble block, at his neck. The sound of his chocking could be heard yards away. He fell to all fours and she finished the job.

The last thing she remembered before the quickening was Jerusalem striding toward her sword in hand, then turning to defend, as he had with Kane. When she could see and think again, Connor was talking to Clay, gesturing toward Duncan and his young student. Clay said very little but apparently it was enough. Connor then spoke to Duncan and his opponent, the short reddish-skinned woman who both nodded and separated themselves from the group. They would be next.

Before they could draw their weapons, though, Jerusalem called for everyone's attention again. The guards were now assembled near the wall-doors where the immortals had entered. They saluted him and marched out. "You may now search the grounds to your satisfaction," he announced to the others.

"What's to prevent them from alerting the authorities to what's going on here?" Connor asked.

"A one-million shekel bonus to be paid one week from now."

Kamir, Kell, and Kronos wandered the grounds looking for signs of treachery from Jerusalem and plotting their own. Cassandra walked slowly toward Connor, still shaking off the cobwebs from Kalas' powerful quickening. He tensed at her approach, clearly distrustful and perhaps even afraid. She asked quietly and calmly, "What did you say to Clay? I'm surprised he was willing to wait still further."

"I told him it would make it impossible for Duncan to fight if he saw his student die first. He owes Duncan." Cassandra nodded, she was aware of how Duncan had spared Clay a decade or so ago. She wished her noble former charge well, Connor too for that matter. It had been a very good night. She had taken the head of another ancient to balance Methos' coming victory over Kronos. More important, she had done so without compromising her plan to kill him. The knowledge fortified her as she headed toward the two horsemen.

"If you're really going to fight, I challenge now whichever one of you survives."

Kronos tended to dismiss her, so she was surprised that it was he who responded. He moved to stand in front of her, not at all bothered by the fact she was taller. Why should he be, Kronos had been killing bigger, stronger opponents for closing on 4,000 years. "I fight who I want to fight." With that, he walked off. Methos just looked at her, affecting dignified sadness. She felt her gorge rise at the sight. She was about to pour out fury over his deception yet again when the sound of swords drew both their attention. Duncan's duel had begun.

After fencing less than a minute, Duncan stepped backward from his opponent, removed his jacket, and bowed deeply. For her part, the short woman just looked at him as if he was utterly insane. Now standing near Connor and Rich, Methos stage whispered loud enough for all, especially Duncan, to hear, "I knew it. Damn fool still thinks it's the age of chivalry. He's as good as dead."

end part 15


	16. Fall from grace

Part 16 Fall from grace

Author's warning: this is not pleasant. An ugly possibility is introduced, then an even uglier outcome is realized. I'm not doing this for kicks; the Highlander franchise had to be far too pretty with its fights because they were visible to impressionable eyes. Here it's only words. And battles to the death among nearly equal opponents are usually going to be really nasty. One on one basketball is bad enough.

The third set of duelists were not nearly as flamboyant as the first two. The combatants stayed within a few feet of each other at all times, roaming an area barely larger than a boxing ring. There was no light and sound, no running and vaulting, just two clashing blades. This was appreciated by the audience, which paid rapt attention to the styles of both, recording information as well as any camera.

Duncan had determined that he was the better swordsman. Or, at least, an unbiased judge would have given him a higher score. Unfortunately, there were no points for elegance. The short woman was quick, agile, not as well trained but more experienced than he, and had a tactical advantage from her height. The area where Duncan could strike a meaningful blow was small and she defended it almost perfectly. He, on the other hand, had to work harder than usual to defend his legs between the knee and waist.

Nonetheless, she was on the defensive almost from the beginning. She looked strong but her much lighter weight and his martial arts abilities meant she quickly learned to avoid anything hand-to-hand. And he had the reach advantage. It had become obvious to Duncan why Methos thought he would lose this battle. The longer it went, the better the chance the older, more experienced immortal would introduce a trick the younger one had never seen. Aside from Richie, not coincidentally his student, Duncan was the youngest left. He had gotten this far on superior skills and there seemed to be only one way to use his skills against this opponent. Cut her.

The reach difference was so great that, moving properly, he could maintain a distance such that she could barely touch him. With mortals, that would have decided the battle. However long it might have taken, a few mistakes by the shorter contestant would have drawn enough blood to prove decisive. Here, though, the scratches Duncan was able to inflict healed so quickly as to mean nothing. No, the safest, surest thing to do was something he would never have considered until today, something he couldn't imagine any immortal would consider, even after hearing the stories over and over.

There were very few places where a mild scratch could make the difference before it healed. The sword arm if the weapon was dropped, but a seasoned immortal would hold her sword until she was near death. A finger on the sword hand, possibly. And the eyes.

He had to slice up one of her eyes. The blood and loss of depth perception even for a few seconds would make it impossible for her to fight at this level. It was revolting in more than one way but it had to be done, or the odds would tilt against him. Duncan changed his stance and his style for the fourth or fifth time in the duel to keep his distance, feint, and eventually jab at one eye and the other. It would take a while to strike the blow, but he would win this way.

Duncan's instincts were generally poor, as his friends had never stopped reminding him. Oh, his motives were always pure as the driven snow, it's just that his gut reaction to most situations was wrong. Forgiving someone who is still trying to kill him, rushing in to save the preyed upon only to have them turn out to be the predators, and so on. A good part of it, of course, was that he wasn't as smart as Methos or Amanda. Or Tessa. Or his old friend Hugh Fitzcairn. Or Kalas. Or Kane.

The one area in which Duncan had excellent instincts was combat. And his instincts were telling him something was wrong with his wonderful plan. For one thing, the short woman didn't seem the slightest bit surprised or concerned. For another, the look he eventually stole at Methos showed neither relief nor approval on the old face. He was missing something, but he couldn't figure out what. He had the longer reach – she couldn't change the laws of physics. It should be just a matter of time.

And so it was. A matter of time until he overextended ever so slightly. She had offered many false opportunities to lure him into overcommitting and losing his balance, and he had ignored them. This wasn't a trap, it was just a small mistake on his part. It didn't lead to an immediate and terrifically dangerous wound the way a small mistake on her part would have, but it was an opening he never would have given if not for seeking to blind her.

The extension of his sword left his torso open. That part was unavoidable. What was avoidable was the slight over-lunge forward which meant his parry of her counter was not as firm as it should have been. Also weakening his parry was that she didn't go for one of his legs again, as expected, but for his abdomen. Her sword went through his block and bit into his belly. The wound have been fatal for a mortal unless immediately treated. It staggered Duncan. He moved away trying to dampen the blood flow before it made him faint.

His opponent was too good to allow this. She was all over him, forcing him to defend rather than tend the wound. Blood was pouring out and he was feeling weaker. She had minutes until he was fully recovered, minutes he would probably not survive. He parried, sneaking a desperate glance at Methos and seeing only the expressionless face again. Then finding Connor in what could very well turn out to be a farewell gaze and watching his brother throw an uppercut. Fight? Go? Be strong?

No, slug her. Beat her up. Duncan MacLeod was a superb martial artist, trained in multiple methods by some of the best that ever lived. Kamir was a bit better, none of the other immortals were. Even if she was as skilled as he, he had at least 30 kilos weight advantage and probably more. She had understandably avoided closing with him, but he had been foolish not to force the issue. Even if she was better than him with a sword, she wasn't good enough to keep him entirely away from her. He hadn't done so because he couldn't stomach the idea of physically assaulting a much smaller woman. Even cutting her eye with a blade wasn't nearly as bad – that was about skill more than size and she had a fair chance.

More than a fair chance, as it had turned out. Methos had obviously known this all along. Duncan could have won the fight quickly if he only he had been willing to repeat millennia of abuse of the large against the small. He had subconsciously refused, not even considering something which would have occurred to the Kurgan immediately and even his noble brother Connor eventually. Now it was his only substantial chance of surviving.

He parried, held his sword against hers, and used the leverage to push her. He knew instantly this was the right strategy when worry flashed briefly across on her face. The look was followed by determination. Her own strength and lower center of gravity, combined with his injury, allowed her to push him away. But Duncan was energized by the confidence that he could win another night's life in the face of death. He soon was able to repeat the maneuver, this time drawing face to face, he looking down. She jumped into what looked like a tae kwon do turning kick, aimed at his wound, but he was able to block with enough force to prevent much of an impact.

A few minutes ago, he would have gone along with the martial arts duel, happily, and eventually won. Now he had to resort to something much uglier. He swung his sword at her neck, she parried, and they came almost nose to nose again. This time Duncan head-butted her. She couldn't have managed the same move, the force of the blow directed upward would have been too weak. Heading downward, though, it was brutal. Blood exploded from her face onto his and she staggered backward. Duncan swung for the kill but she managed to block. This was hardly a shock from such a fine warrior. She also blocked most of his punch to her face. Then his next sword thrust. This was the Gathering -- you couldn't expect your opponent to just give up due to a shattered nose and cheekbone.

Now it was Duncan losing time to press his advantage. Nerving himself, he recalled a move that had been used by one of his nastier opponents. He made as if to close and head-butt her again, knowing she wouldn't fall for it, then offered a side-kick to the head she had to use both hands to block in order to protect her injury. Leaving his feet, he immediately kicked at her kneecap. It was a necessarily awkward move and Duncan landed hard. But the kick had been precisely delivered, as per centuries of training, and his weight had been going forward. The crunch was sickening, or it would have been if not heard only by those who had killed dozens, hundreds, or thousands.

The short woman cried out and fell. The remaining immortals were legitimately superhuman, but they weren't machines. She could no longer stand, had no chance of surviving, and the pain was excruciating. Rather than hold her sword while he chopped her up, she dropped it and held his eyes, waiting. Duncan nodded to her, set himself to ensure a clean kill, and swung. As the quickening gathered and the immortals scattered, he could vaguely hear a scream.

end part 16


	17. Life and death

Part 17 Life and death

When Duncan regained awareness, Connor was standing guard over him and Methos was at a discreet distance. As Connor helped him to his feet, Duncan heard the clash of swords, "Aye, Clay went after your student the moment you won." Duncan immediately headed toward the sound but he wobbled and Connor caught him.

"Thank you, Connor, for helping me. Without your guidance, again, I might be dead."

"You wouldn't even have been fighting her if I hadn't insisted on Kamir."

The two smiled at each other as they had for centuries, only to be interrupted by the Real Old Grouch. "If that had been Kell, MacLeod, your hesitation at the end would have cost you your head." Duncan stared at him a moment, then pushed by and headed toward Richie . . . Rich.

It took only a moment for his heart to almost burst with pride. Haresh Clay had killed Graham Ashe easily. Ashe had taught Ramirez who taught Connor who taught Duncan, who taught Rich. It was as close as immortals came to a family line and Rich was the closest thing Duncan ever had to a child. Rich was fighting for his life, of course, but he was also representing his clan against the man who killed a clan elder. And he was doing so very well.

Duncan had beaten Clay while the man was consumed with grief over the death of his centuries-old companion, Carter Wellan. Now Clay was consumed with rage. Duncan hadn't seen the fight start but he imagined it had looked exactly the same as it did now: Clay abandoning sparring and subtlety and seeking the kill with every blow.

If a lesser swordsman tried this, he would have left himself open and died quickly. Even Clay would wear out eventually at the pace he was setting but, for now, his desire for revenge sustained him. Yet Rich was somehow matching 1200 years of fury with 30 years of desperate calm. He was clearly on the defensive but seemed to Duncan's late-arriving eyes not to have suffered any noticeable wound.

Duncan had to grudgingly give Kamir credit, as distasteful as it was. Pre-steroids or whatever he was taking, Rich's upper body would have worn out quickly under this kind of assault. Unfortunately, it didn't seem like the other help Kamir had provided Rich was going to come into play: Rich could probably take Clay hand to hand but there hadn't yet been even the slightest opening for him to change the fight in that fashion, as Duncan himself had just done.

Duncan had no dramatic gestures to offer to change the course of this duel, like Connor's of a few moments ago. Also, Rich was pretty clearly avoiding looking at him. This was particularly painful because the odds were still high that Rich would soon be dead. When Clay finally gained control of himself, he had centuries of moves to bring to bear. As well as Rich had been trained, you couldn't compress 1200 years into 10 or 15.

Connor appeared at Duncan's side. "I know you're grieving over his short life. But you know he wouldn't have lasted long even without the Gathering. The young ones never do. They're never taken seriously by mortals and eventually they crack, avenging the wrongs they imagine done to them or letting someone take their heads out of despair. Their doom is as certain as those who gain their quickening too late in life."

"He's not dead yet, Connor." His brother just looked back at him.

"He's learned more than any young immortal I've ever seen. More than I did from Ramirez, more than you did from me. I will honor that tonight and I know you will, too." Connor walked off, to ready for his own battle.

When Duncan turned back to Rich, Clay looked even more crazed. Exertion was causing spittle to collect on the corners of his mouth but his attack never flagged. Duncan had thought Rich might have gained some advantage by provoking Clay with comments about his dead friend, but there was no point: Clay was already over the edge.

He swung his sword in great, cleaving arcs. At this point, with Clay's arm speed inevitably slowing as compared to the initial frenzy, there should have been time for Rich to parry then jab, at least drawing blood. But Rich's own arms were also heavy and each of Clay's blows was so powerful as to knock him off-balance for just the moment he needed to strike back.

Methos was behind Duncan, "That's how it will be fighting the Kurgan. You can see the opportunity but you can't take it."

"Any chance Clay wears out?"

"No, he knows he's done tomorrow anyway. Rich's quickening is so weak that whoever Clay faces next will have a huge advantage. He's fighting the last battle of his life, just as Rich is. Plus the vengeance." There was a pause, as if Methos was considering whether or not to add something, "Your boy will die well, MacLeod. He is dying well."

Duncan nodded, emotion overwhelming his ability to speak. His boy. Methos knew exactly what he was saying. As Connor had, Methos now moved off by himself, to prepare.

Both combatants were clearly slowing but the nature of the combat was the same, Clay slashing exclusively at the neck. The inevitable break came as he lost his grip on his sword, likely from perspiration, and almost had it slip from his hands. In his youth, Rich was too surprised to take immediate advantage but his belated response was a good one. He took a step and jumped into the air, striking down at Clay from above.

Duncan grunted unconsciously in approval. It was the kind of athletic move that came naturally to a young man but which Clay wouldn't have encountered much seeking out, as he did, immortals in strong, older bodies. It forced him to shift to defense. He instinctively set his feet to make sure his parry wasn't pushed aside by such an aggressive attack, which would have cost the use of a shoulder, or worse. Clay's blade was also forced out of its normal sweep. Rich had ensured that he didn't have to endure more of the relentless pounding, which Duncan knew was taking more than just physical toll.

With the tables turned, energy Rich didn't know he still had came to the fore and he swarmed Clay. His assault was different, shorter but faster blows looking to cut and, most important, prevent Clay from countering. From the other side of the duel, Duncan could see the approval of the oldest of the line – Ramirez -- as well. They smiled at each other as Rich transformed into a teenaged-looking, red-headed version of Duncan, mimicking what he had been taught perfectly. For the moment, Clay had faltered.

But it was not to be. After some minutes of being unable to find a mistake to exploit, Clay used a trick older immortals had sprung on younger opponents for thousands of years. Offering Rich a chance to hack at his chest, Clay then twisted so that the wound was to his ribcage. Extremely painful but the discipline of an experienced immortal prevailed. While Rich struggled to extract his sword from heavy bone, Clay slashed at his neck.

Remarkably, the youngster had the presence of mind to turn his own body. Duncan gritted his teeth. The blow to his lower neck and shoulder was gruesome, but not immediately fatal. The two contestants staggered backward, bleeding profusely. As they tumbled, it became obvious that Rich's wound would eventually be mortal. He would die and, before, he could recover, Clay would take his head. Duncan sought Rich's eyes but the boy was straining to rise. He finally fell. Gripping his side, Clay tottered forward.

He kicked Rich's sword away but then straightened, waiting. There were several murmurs, from a crowd representing more than 20,000 years of experience. Was Clay going to torture the boy? At the Gathering? Another time, another place, Duncan would have begged for Rich's life. Even yesterday, he would have offered his own as a substitute. Any immortal save Clay would have preferred Duncan's much stronger quickening. But here, now, with this opponent, there was no hope.

A few minutes later -- an eternity due to Rich's still comparatively weak quickening -- his breath returned. He had the momentary confusion of rebirth, then saw Clay towering over him. Rich's face registered the natural surprise that he was still alive. He sought out his sword, saw it impossibly far away, then turned back to Clay for the answer. Clay was shaking, clearly struggling internally.

He raised his sword, "Any last words?" As a new immortal, Rich would have spouted defiance or some cliché about good and evil. Duncan himself wanted one more moment of communication with his near-son. But this Rich just growled, "Get it over with" and Duncan restrained himself. It was Rich's decision how to die – he could not deny him. The blade came down and the modest quickening began. This time the immortals didn't even bother to scatter.

Instead, those who had gone off to meditate or stretch or otherwise prepare returned, eyeing each other. Who would be next? Connor shrugged mentally. Why let Kamir have any more time with Grayson's quickening. He approached the powerfully built Indian and the other immortals stepped back, signaling their acquiescence.

Kamir drew his sword but was still wide-eyed, as he had been when he arrived at Jerusalem's keep. His parries were solid but there was no initiative. He seemed unsteady on his feet. Methos was behind Duncan again, "This is what happens when one of your contemporaries has less than a day to absorb the quickening of a true ancient. Kurgan, Kronos, Cassandra, Ramirez, Jerusalem, myself – this is what we'd do to you or Connor."

As he watched Kamir barely keep his head, looking nothing like the man who once believed he was a god, Duncan this time had to respond to Methos' nagging, "So what would you suggest, old man"?

"Don't act like it's just another head. It's five times the experiences you've had, or more, all coming at once. Let it happen, meditate if you can. If you fight it, this is what you get."

"Those drugs Kamir must have used to flee the scene so quickly after taking Grayson's head had a price after all." Methos nodded curtly, then retreated yet again. Duncan snorted – he'd be back when there was space for more sarcasm.

Connor himself was puzzled. It was probably too early for Kamir to show signs of Grayson's skills but the man should at least be trying to maneuver into a hand-to-hand contest. Instead, he was barely keeping himself alive, and Connor was just testing, not coming at him at full speed. Was it a trick? Did Kamir have something of Grayson waiting up his sleeve if Connor overcommitted?

Oh well. Connor had intended to challenge Grayson, anyway. The tone of the duel changed sharply as Connor began to press. Kamir was plainly fighting some internal conflict, and took cuts. They healed, however, much more quickly than they should have for someone of Kamir's few centuries. Grayson was having an effect. As Connor intensified the pace, Kamir was forced to rely more on instinct. His swordsmanship improved and Connor began to worry.

Whatever was going on inside of him, Kamir was good enough to handle a half-speed duel. At full speed, he seemed to improve. There had to be a way to take advantage of the other's obvious struggle, but Connor couldn't see it. Worse, for the first time, Kamir was striking his own blows, not just parrying. If this continued, it would return to an even encounter and Connor would have blown his chance.

Though abilities were emerging, it was certain Kamir was still not thinking clearly. He still looked dazed, as if he had suffered repeated blows to the head. Which he had, in a way. He hadn't spoken a word, and Connor didn't think he was capable. Great, the Highlander mused, I'm fighting someone whose brain is completely scrambled by his last quickening and I can't think of a way to use it to my advantage. Which one of us is the idiot?

Upon pondering the identity of the nearest idiot, a fairly idiotic idea came to mind. It probably wouldn't work, even in Kamir's current state, but the worst that would happen is Connor looked foolish. That might even give him an overconfident opponent down the line. And if it worked, he'd have a short fight and not have to show Kane his best moves.

Connor took a step back and held his sword down and away from his body. Kamir just looked at him blankly. "Hello, anyone home?" Connor made a throwing motion with his sword.

"Connor, don't!," Duncan protested, which was just perfect.

Finally, some of Kamir's brain recognized this was exactly what he wanted. He tossed his own sword and even smiled, after a fashion. Connor, in turn, carefully pitched his blade aside. They began to circle. The Highlander was doing his best not to betray his intentions including, as the opportunity drew nearer, by starting to laugh. Suddenly, Kamir feinted and closed with a speed Connor would not have thought possible and it had to be done now.

Connor rolled, bumping into his opponent slightly but reaching his destination: Kamir's sword. His pursuer was on him immediately only to find impale himself on the blade. He ignored the wound, swiveling his head immediately but, after watching where Kamir tossed his weapon, Connor had put his own sword where it could not be reached.

Recognizing this, Kamir, or rather the entity with his face, turned back to Connor and spoke for the first time, "You deceived me. I would not have believed that from a MacLeod." Despite his outlandish success, Connor flinched. That sounded very much like Grayson. What was he getting himself into taking this quickening? As he swung his katana to end one of the strangest challenges he'd ever had, the Highlander began to realize that the Gathering was at least as much about who could keep his mind as who could keep his head.

end part 17


	18. Ancients

Part 18 Ancients

As expected, Kamir's quickening was daunting. As probably should have been expected, there seemed to be two of them. The first quickening was comparatively small and headed right for Connor. The second appeared to wait, then came at him all at once. It was brief, but incredibly violent. Strong quickenings could make any immortal scream, but Connor's cries were different. There was a note of terror in them.

Duncan went immediately to his side. His brother would need a great deal of help with this one, not the same kind of help he had needed with Amanda's quickening, but help nonetheless. Though they would provide useful information in preserving his own life, Duncan would have to miss the remaining fights. Connor's life meant far more.

When Connor could lift his head, his eyes were glassy. "Connor, it's me. It's Duncan. Don't fight, let it happen."

"Can't. Too much."

"You must. Trying to fight it off is what Kamir did." Duncan decided to go a step further, "Methos says this is the way to beat it."

Connor focused on Duncan's face, or at least tried to. Then he closed his eyes. His body almost immediately went limp and Duncan had to catch him. He tossed Connor into a fireman's carry and headed for the compound.

With his former student alive for one more night and day, and in the caring hands of his brother, Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez, first known as Tak-Ne, could himself now die. His last task was to hide his plan from the monster he was going to fight, so that Kell would be unprepared for the timing, strength, and nature of his true assault. Ramirez wasn't going to ruin close to 3000 years of righteousness – well, a good deal of righteousness -- by taking Kell's insane head and turning into a ghoul. Instead, he was going to attack Kell's dark spirit with his own.

Ramirez doubted his would qualify as a full-fledged light quickening, but it would certainly change a comparative youngster like Kell, no matter how many heads he had taken in his 500 years. Perhaps it would erode Kell's hatred of Connor. Perhaps it would unsettle him the way Connor's last opponent had been unsettled by Grayson. In any case, it would be the most effective blow Ramirez could strike for the Highlander, balancing against his failure of centuries ago.

As he moved toward Kell to signal his intent they should be next, the Kurgan caught his attention. He was the third corner of the triangle with Connor, and Ramirez had worked almost as hard to avoid the Kurgan for the past five centuries as he had to avoid the Highlander. He couldn't beat him, except by luck or cheating. Ramirez would not cheat, and he didn't believe in luck. He had thought himself lucky when his sword bit so deeply into the Kurgan's neck, but it had not been enough. Now the powerful immortals he had killed during the Gathering were helping to heal even that deep wound.

The Kurgan was leering at him. Ramirez knew that expression. Some immortals openly acknowledged sexual feelings associated with challenges, and certainly the quickening, but the Kurgan's reputation was by far the most lurid. The Watcher files Ramirez had seen were casual in reporting the Kurgan's sexual activities before and after he killed. They had usually been nonconsensual before his vow to Connor, now the watchers found hilarious the lengths the Kurgan was forced to go.

Ramirez didn't know if the Kurgan was eager to see him die or eager to see him kill or just had the bloodlust on him. In his own way, the Kurgan was as crazy as Kell. And far older. While Ramirez hoped to change Kell with his quickening, it wouldn't cause the Kurgan to so much as burp. Ramirez knew perfectly well that neither Connor nor his brother would accept his head, and Kane had already been challenged by the time he arrived here. This had left Kell as by far the best option.

Jacob Kell was happy, perhaps the happiest he had felt as an immortal. Both his fellow Highlanders had won their duels, leaving them as future targets. He would avenge the humiliation of fleeing Ramirez two centuries ago and torture Connor with the death of his teacher. Bolstered by Ramirez' ancient quickening, he would likely seek out Duncan next, adding to Connor's misery ten-fold. The strength of those around him had driven home the peril of the Gathering, yet all was as it should be. It was his destiny to kill Connor MacLeod and win the Prize.

This was another duel that started tentatively -- Ramirez wanting to see how much Kell had improved since they had last met, Kell wanting to see if he could now defeat Ramirez by sword alone. Ramirez was holding back but not too much, as he did not want to arouse any suspicion. Kell was holding back his special ability, and chose to stay on the defensive with the sword, too.

After some minutes, the Kurgan began mock hissing. He was the lone observer, the rest having wandered off for various reasons. Ramirez did not want to provoke suspicion, so he stepped away to raise a rather theatric eyebrow at the Kurgan, then began a more substantial assault. Kell was an excellent defender and parried each classic, perfectly executed combination firmly and seemingly without effort. His voice was cold but there was an unmistakable note of triumph, "You spent too much time watching over Connor MacLeod and not enough tending to your own survival, Tak-ne."

Ramirez hesitated for just a moment and Kell laughed without humor, "Yes, I know how you've followed him from a distance, like a lovesick schoolgirl. Your clumsiness made it impossible not to notice.

"Perhaps you inspired my clumsiness at our last encounter." Ramirez pressed his attack, bidding to convince Kell his impending victory was legitimate. Kell's movements quickened in response; he was exerting himself now but the defense was still flawless. Of course, it was easier to defend when there was no attempt made at riposte, no lunging, nothing to put balance at risk. Ramirez stepped away again, "Are you hoping to bore me to death?"

Kell pondered a moment. He could probably defeat Ramirez without use of his special ability, but there would be a chance of failure. And the MacLeods already knew of his ability, so there was little possibility of keeping it secret. He concentrated, then closed on Ramirez, offering a very simple attack.

Ramirez was surprised but not shocked. According to the watcher file he had pilfered, Dawson himself had witnessed the duel between Kell and Connor and reported that something was definitely off. This was it. Kell's sword was not where his eyes told him it was, leading to a rather nasty leg wound. His immediate counter-attack should have struck Kell but instead hit air. Kell himself wasn't where his eyes said, either.

A younger immortal would have panicked. Connor certainly hadn't reacted well, though this was partly because he was overwhelmed by grief and rage. Ramirez knew that Kell was accomplishing this by means of his quickening, which meant it could be undone by means of another quickening. Ramirez focused on his life force, so tangible to immortals. He wasn't as familiar with this particular kind of manipulation as Kell, obviously, but he had been working to use his quickening to attempt other small miracles for centuries.

Kell was toying with him, overconfident. The wounds he was inflicting would heal quickly enough. Ramirez risked closing his eyes for a moment, maintaining his concentration. When he opened them again, his head was throbbing painfully with effort but his vision had changed. He could now see Kell contoured in lights of various brightness. It was much the way Kane, the other of Connor's nemeses, fought. He had been striking at an afterimage of Kell, which was still visible. Also visible, however, was what seemed to be the current, correct image.

As Kell sliced at him again, smirking, Ramirez met the true blow. The panic this induced was immediate and obvious. Kell began a wild attack, in stark contrast to the perfect defense he had offered just a few minutes ago. Still trying to adjust to the multiple images, Ramirez could barely keep his head. This would have been a perfect time to let Kell prevail, but there was one more task to perform.

Ramirez retreated toward where Methos was meditating. Connor was inside the compound with his brother; Methos could hardly be trusted but he would have to do. "Methos!" His fellow ancient looked annoyed – it was well past the need for secrecy but he still didn't like that name being shouted. "It's a double image! A double image!" Kell pressed his attack, seeking to limit the information being passed on. His blade bit into Ramirez' right shoulder, causing the older immortal to switch to his left hand. It wouldn't be long now.

Ramirez rolled away from Kell, causing pain to shoot up and down his side but giving him a chance to look directly at Methos, "Your word you will tell him." Methos hesitated for a moment; he didn't like making promises for any reason. But he almost certainly would have told Connor anyway. He nodded.

As Kell went fairly clumsily at his weak shoulder, Ramirez had one last urge to try to win, to try to survive. But what then? He was already hollowed out inside from guilt, what would he be like with Kell's quickening? And who was next, Kane? There would be nothing left of his soul. It had to be done.

All the tension seemed to leave his body. As he turned to face death, from the corner of his eye he saw Methos' face change. The old man might figure it out, he realized. Ramirez overreached on a feint from Kell, filling his thoughts with fatherly love for Connor. Kell slashed at his upper left arm and Ramirez dropped his blade. The final blow came as Ramirez recalled jumping off a cliff nearly five centuries ago with his student, and his amusement at Connor's anger.

When the quickening began to pummel Kell, Methos went in search of the Highlander. He found him curled into the fetal position, shaking and jabbering. Duncan was holding and rocking him, speaking soothing words but plainly horrified. Fear turned to anger when he saw Methos, "You said this would help him!"

"It will. He has a chance to come out of it this way."

"A chance?!"

Methos shrugged, "A good chance. Nothing is guaranteed at this point, MacLeod."

"What do you want."

"Kell just beat Tak-ne. He gave me a message for Connor right before he died. You should hear it, too. 'It's a double image.'"

"That must be how Kell defeated Connor so easily before."

Methos shrugged again, "I'm not sure but I think he let Kell win."

"What! Why?"

"I can imagine a number of reasons but one thing's for sure: it's going to be much harder for Kell to hate your brother now." With his pledge fulfilled, Methos left the building.

He returned to find Jerusalem standing guard over Kell, who seemed to be having a confrontation with himself, threatening and scowling. Jerusalem led him off the side gingerly, as if touching Kell was distasteful.

"No matter how many heads they've taken, the young ones are never quite ready, are they?" Kronos was behind him; they were next.

"I used to think the same thing about you, Kronos."

"So which shall prevail tonight, the spryness of youth or the wisdom of age?"

Methos did not reply, just walked slowly to the center of their arena. The incident with Tak-ne and Duncan had not flummoxed him. He was ready; it was time.

Kronos stopped a short distance from him, holding his sword directly in front of his face, "I salute you, brother, for what you once were – the greatest killer on the planet."

Methos made no gesture but did reply, "I salute our friendship, brother." He closed the gap between him with swift strides, twirling the Ivanhoe, then bringing it down with such force that Kronos almost cried out when he parried. Around them, the Kurgan remained, Jerusalem trotted back, and Cassandra had returned from wherever it was she had gone. More than 9000 years of life and experience stood as silent witness to a clash between more than 8000.

end part 18


	19. The main event

Part 19 The Main Event

The surprise on Kronos' face at the force of Methos' initial blow was unmistakable. He had been expecting his former comrade to hold back, as he always did, especially with future opponents the Kurgan and Cassandra watching. But Methos had been able to do some thinking, despite constantly needing to nursemaid Duncan.

There were only eight immortals left, aside from himself and Kronos. If he could avoid it, he wouldn't fight either MacLeod. Or, for that matter, Jerusalem. Kell and Clay were, for different reasons, incoherent. Cassandra and, probably, Kane were watching, but any contest with them would be more about their kinds of magic than swordsmanship. This left only the Kurgan, and a battle with the Kurgan would be nothing like one with Kronos. The size difference alone ensured that, plus other differences born from the size difference. Kronos relied on agility and technique, the Kurgan on power. He could use his full arsenal against Kronos and show the Kurgan little of relevance.

Moreover, his brief meditation had been immediately conclusive as to one thing: he harbored no guilt at the thought of killing his "brother." It was certainly not that Methos thought himself more worthy. No matter the changes that had been wrought in him since, his past crimes were more than sufficient to make him entirely unworthy of the Prize, whatever it was. But Kronos simply could not be allowed to be the last one standing. If he took Methos' head, this would be all too possible. It was a practical matter and Methos was a practical man.

A quick start had another attractive feature: if Kronos had been counting on some time to talk to him as a psychological ploy, he would not have it. The ploy would not have worked, anyway, but this might throw Kronos off balance a bit.

That left only the type of battle Methos wanted to fight. To an outside observer, the obvious thing to do would be to pit his reach against Kronos' agility and his vast experience against Kronos' almost equally vast experience. This left the odds to close to even. It was also unnecessary.

For many reasons -- starting with fear of persecution as a sorcerer at a time when immortals were identified and tortured by mortals just for the crime of needing human company -- he had never practiced using his quickening in the semi-magical way Cassandra and now Kane and Kell had. That hardly meant he had no special abilities, just that they weren't as flashy.

He had already showed his advanced healing power, one shared to some extent by all the ancients. The young ones like MacLeod never thought about what a 3000, 4000, or 5000 year-old quickening meant, even if centuries of that were spent never taking a single head. When his healing began to speed up even from the immortal norm, more than three millennia ago, Methos had started to try to enhance his other physical attributes. In a moment of panic while fighting a pack of wolves a few centuries later, he had been able to increase his mass. From that point, he worked at simultaneously increasing his mass and increasing his strength to compensate. He had shown a bit of this combination to Connor in their last spar. Now Kronos would have to deal with the real thing.

Methos' was not without his own concerns. Kronos' would have special abilities, too. While Kronos was much younger, and his quickening therefore weaker, he was still an ancient. And they had taken about the same number of heads. Kronos would have something significant up his sleeve and he had to be ready. For now, his reach and experience would keep Kronos on the defensive, while his augmented strength wore him out.

And so each blow rang out as sharply as the first, and each forced air out of Kronos' lungs. The grunting became audible after only a few minutes. And he still had not given Kronos the slightest opening. "I'm honored, brother. I wasn't sure you thought so much of my chances." Methos ignored the mild baiting. If this was the best Kronos could do, he was struggling. The key was to anticipate when Kronos would make his move, and whether he'd go for the kill directly or a serious injury. Kronos was likely to know fairly well how quickly he would heal.

As the duel settled into a pattern, Methos caught glimpses of his tiny audience. Cassandra not the slightest bit surprised at his ability or aggressiveness, the Kurgan's standard blood-leer, and a bemused smile for Jerusalem, as if he was watching a modestly entertaining show. Methos had to suppress a smirk of his own – tough crowd.

Kronos was doing an admirable job of defending himself even against the best Methos could offer. But he was clearly getting worn down by the enhanced weight of the blows. He was also barely speaking, which Methos noted with some satisfaction. "Very good, Methos." he managed, "I confess I had not expected this."

Ah, here it comes, Methos thought. Kronos had a flair for the dramatic. At the next parry, Kronos leveraged off Methos' unnatural weight and jumped right over his head.

If Methos hadn't been expecting something alone these lines, it might have worked. As it was, he was able to spin and meet Kronos' sword with such force that Kronos tumbled into a somersault off his inhuman leap.

The extent of his quickening-enhanced agility was now on display; it was similar to Guanyin earlier that night but even more impressive. Kronos halted his tumbling by planting one hand – the other held his blade – and vaulting right back at Methos. This time the force behind the blow was at least equal to Methos' parry and he staggered backward. Kronos jumped sideways, appearing to defy gravity, and went for Methos' ribs. Only the difference in reach prevented a major injury this time.

Kronos vaulted away again, only to bounce right back. The unorthodox combination of blows he aimed at Methos, combined with the bizarre angles prompted by the seemingly random vaulting, made it hard for Methos to block them all. His vast experience didn't extend to fighting gold-medal gymnasts. On the other hand, Kronos' precision was naturally affected and Methos was still able to protect all critical areas. He suffered only minor cuts, which healed immediately.

It appeared to be a standoff, with Kronos able to avoid the enhanced power of Methos' strikes but not able to press his own attack. Methos knew better. Kronos was not capable of sustaining this level of effort. Too young. Which meant he would eventually flee toward the ladders, scaffolding, and walls on the perimeter of the compound to rest, relying on his athletic ability in those unusual quarters to deter Methos from following.

So Methos bided his time until Kronos' gymnastics became more labored, then swung to the attack. He pursued, often at a dead run, whenever Kronos bounded away. This taxed his own strength. He didn't like revealing his limits to Cassandra and the Kurgan but it could not be helped. Kronos' skills made some sort of stratagem unavoidable in order to force the issue. Moreover, it wore harder on Kronos. Soon enough, his brother dashed for the nearest wall, jumping halfway up the stepladder then turning to see Methos' response.

Methos walked over in pursuit, at a brisk pace but still a walk. The goal was to give the impression that he was indeed reluctant to tangle with Kronos at that height and on that unusual ground. Kronos smirked ever so slightly, then climbed leisurely toward the top of the wall he was scaling.

As he approached the ladder, Methos strove to calm himself. As expected, Kronos had not worked out all the angles on Methos' ability. But the same could be true in reverse: could there be some other facet to Kronos' enhanced athleticism? He would shortly find out. A few steps away from the ladder, Methos picked up his pace and then he, too, leaped.

He saw his brother's eyes widen in near-panic, then recognition. If Methos could increase his mass to make his blows heavier, he could reduce it as well, simulating lower gravity for his leap. There was a limit, of course. He could not simply jump to the top of the wall. But he got within striking distance of his brother's lower leg and swung viciously. Stretched out on the ladder, Kronos could not parry with sufficient force – the blow should have removed both his legs below the knee.

Instead, it was Methos' turn to be dismayed. Kronos had an extension of his agility, and a rather gruesome one at that. His legs twisted unnaturally out of the way of Methos' sword. It was grotesque and apparently painful, if the sounds Kronos was making were any indication, but it worked. Rather than amputation, Kronos legs were merely scored by the blade. Bloody and dangerous, not necessarily fatal.

Taking advantage of Methos' surprise, Kronos then threw himself to the top of the wall, landing roughly. He appeared exhausted. Methos was also tiring but he couldn't give Kronos time to recover or gain distance. Concentrating his quickening, he raced up the ladder as fast as possible, reaching Kronos just as his brother was able to stand, inhibited by the ugly scars starting to appear on his legs. Methos abandoned finesse with a roundhouse swing designed to knock Kronos back off his feet when he parried. But his brother bent remarkably backward out of the way. How long could he keep this up?

As they dueled again, this time more gingerly, Methos chastised himself. He had underestimated Kronos' determination. Of course, his brother would push himself beyond his limits. And every moment this battle went on was another where Methos could lose his concentration at a pivotal moment or fall for a trick or just slip. He had been too subtle in pressing his advantage.

No longer. Until Kronos could recover somewhat, Methos was able to keep him on the defensive. And he didn't intend to let him recover. Methos worked his way into a broad sweep at Kronos' chest, and when this was blocked, took the opportunity to dive at his brother, knocking them both off the wall to the ground some meters below. Despite his weakness, Kronos somehow twisted in his grasp to land largely on his feet, then roll. But he was too battered to rise immediately.

Methos was also battered. He had lowered his mass to ease the impact of the fall but it was only a partial solution. He needed time to rest and heal but he couldn't afford it. Reclaiming his sword, he staggered over to Kronos, who had somehow held or found his own blade and was struggling to rise. Methos shook his head involuntarily – his brother's will was a thing to behold. But there would be no breathtaking escape this time. He brushed aside Kronos' sword with his own only to have Kronos turn his neck and head so that Methos cut only shoulder.

Kronos gasped, fighting off a scream. Finally, this was the end. There was no time for words – Methos would not risk any delay. Their eyes met for only a moment as Methos made the kill.

The quickening was as bright and energetic as he expected. He welcomed the intense pain with open arms. He might never be able to make peace with his actions as Death, followed by his betrayal of the Horsemen, but seeing Kronos' memories through Kronos' eyes was the best place to start.

end part 19


	20. Speed and strength

Part 20 Speed and Strength

When Methos could see again, Jerusalem was at his side, rather than locked in a death struggle with the Kurgan. Once Methos could stand, they began walking toward most feared immortal in history. "You know, there really is a decent chance he could slip or something."

"You wouldn't happen to have a few banana peels handy?" The two laughed one more time and Jerusalem stopped short of his foe. "Don't grieve for me, Methos. I know it's difficult for you of all of us to understand, but I am ready. I have been since realizing the Gathering was here. My life's work has been fulfilled." Methos nodded – he did understand, somewhat.

"And you, does Kronos trouble you?"

"If anything, I expect to find a bit more peace." Methos surprised himself, voicing such a feeling. But he had just killed his brother and his friend now faced death.

"That is well." Jerusalem paused. ""If I do emerge victorious, you should consider protecting one of the clansmen while they take my head."

"You're so sure it will be a dark quickening?"

"You know that among our kind I have been sheltered. Against that, the Kurgan has taken as many heads as anyone, yet he is the same as when we first met. I'm sure you have considered that his will need not overcome me, merely alter me, for the rest of you to be in grave danger." Methos did not bother replying, as there was no point. "With the Kurgan's quickening, one of the Scots could very well win the Prize. Of course, you will need to shelter them for a time while they regain control. My presence mixed with the Kurgan's may be helpful in that regard."

"Aren't you going to lecture me on not taking the Kurgan's head when he's down?"

"As formidable as he is, the Kurgan cannot call for a small army here. The risk is less should he win. And I believe you are more afraid of having to absorb the Kurgan's quickening than even death."

Methos sighed. The old ones, the ones who understood him, were all disappearing. If he did win, he wouldn't be 1000 years older than his nearest peer, he'd be 5000 years older. He spied the younger MacLeod emerging from the main building. Of those who remained, Duncan was the closest to a mortal, the best equipped to live among them. Perhaps he should be the one to survive. Of course, that was easier said than done.

He crossed arms with Jerusalem the way he had with Kronos in a bar not far from here, what seemed to be a long time ago. "Fare thou well, Joshua."

"Thou also."

Methos trotted over to Duncan while Jerusalem and the Kurgan stared at each other. "You called him Joshua. He isn't _the_ Joshua, is he?"

Methos turned to face the final two contestants of the night. "No, he took that name to honor his teacher."

"The Biblical Joshua was an immortal?" The awe was plain on MacLeod's face.

Methos shook his head. So much human history had been lost these past few days. "No. A superior swordsman, a superior leader, a judge, a warrior, a killer one hundred times over. An apt teacher for one of us, wouldn't you say?"

Thankfully, the stream of questions MacLeod was set to ask was halted by the beginning of the battle. Cassandra was still nearby. Clay had stumbled forward. Even Kane had appeared from somewhere. Only Connor and Kell were absent, struggling to keep their 500 years from being overwhelmed by the thousands of years of experiences they each had absorbed.

Now, Methos knew, it would be the Kurgan's turn to try to keep from being overwhelmed, at least at the outset. Jerusalem bowed, the Kurgan snarled, and fury was unleashed. They had seen just a taste of it the night before.

Jerusalem did not wander the globe, he did not move from life to life. He had stayed in or very near the Old City for more than 3000 years. And he had practiced. He didn't seek the best teachers, learn new techniques, or study even basic martial arts. He practiced as he was taught, the old way. He had dozens, perhaps hundreds of combinations repeated many hours each day, six days each week, nearly every week of every year for millennia. As he grew older, despite taking very few heads, his quickening eventually became strong enough to bolster his physical abilities, as it did with all ancients. In this case, it polished and guided his movements even a little bit more.

From outside the compound a weary Dawson had been jolted full awake by the sight provided by his night goggles, "Who the hell is this guy?"

Methos observed his fellows. Clay was still wobbly but he did not seem surprised. Perhaps he had sparred with Jerusalem at some point, on holy ground as the latter always insisted. As usual, Cassandra looked more grim than anything. Kane and MacLeod were staring open-mouthed.

Jerusalem was not the best swordsman among them, technically, but he was definitely the fastest. The Kurgan knew this somehow and was ready, else he would have quickly died.

Jerusalem spun and slashed around the Kurgan, striking two blows when there should have been time for only one, a leopard to the latter's lion. The Kurgan had never been particularly fast with a blade; it hadn't mattered. He defended his head and seemed to thrive on the pain caused by wounds elsewhere. And the power of his counterstrikes was such that any opponent had to be very cautious on the offensive.

Except this one, apparently. Jerusalem weaved in and out as if there was no possibility the Kurgan could hit back. There certainly didn't seem to be any opening; if the Kurgan had flagged in defense, he would have immediately lost a limb or worse.

Methos chuckled. No wonder these two had been unimpressed with his battle with Kronos – it had been too showy. No tricks here, just one sword against the other the way it had been at the beginning. For that matter, Methos wondered briefly how he would bring his special abilities to bear against someone moving the way Jerusalem was.

"How . . ." Apparently, MacLeod had a similar question. "How is he doing it?"

"Which, Jerusalem's attack or the Kurgan not dying?"

"The attack, both, the attack -- why didn't you tell me about him? He's the best of us."

"No, probably not."

"But that speed, no one could stand up to that."

"The Kurgan is. And Jerusalem has weaknesses, several in fact. You just have to be able to find them." Duncan pondered for a moment, then looked as if he finally had some idea of what he was up against. Methos snorted -- better 100 years late than never.

The battle continued, the contestants moving only a few steps one way or the other. Jerusalem circled, moving feet and sword to bring to bear different combinations of blows at different angles, delivered in such rapid succession that it seemed impossible he wouldn't wear out the next moment. His face was expressionless, as if this was just another exercise.

The Kurgan, on the other hand, was unusually dour considering someone would die soon. The need for sustained high levels of concentration did not suit him. He began to growl in frustration and his swordsmanship suffered. Jerusalem did not waste effort with non-lethal blows, every one was designed to kill or maim. The Kurgan had blocked them all but now was just a bit slow on occasion. Jerusalem's sword would contact skin before the Kurgan's parry forced it away. At the speed of the fight, blood red lines appeared seemingly almost every second.

Appeared and disappeared. As Methos had suspected, the Kurgan healed as fast as he did, and with no apparent strain or fatigue. The visual effect was stunning: a streak of red, a dark scar, and then nothing in the course of a few seconds, repeated dozens of times. It looked like special effects in a superhero movie. "Too bad R . . ." Methos caught himself. MacLeod's mental state was fragile enough without bringing up Richie.

While the blood vanished, one thing had certainly changed. Either the nature of the fight and his need to concentrate or just the constant slicing being inflicted upon him was making the Kurgan increasingly angry. His growl was turning into a roar. Methos had never heard of the Kurgan being angry once the battle was joined. Connor MacLeod had indicated that there was no sign of rage even when the Kurgan was facing death.

There was plenty of it now. The Kurgan was working himself into a state similar to Clay's when he fought Richie, except at nearly twice the size. Jerusalem did not seem to notice; in fact, his expression appeared almost vacant. Meditation, Methos thought, probably enhanced by his quickening. He's so focused on what he's doing, he doesn't notice his opponent or surroundings. He may not even remember where he is or why. You could do it when you were that quick. And it made his form that much more perfect, his attack that much more precise.

It was inevitable the Kurgan would strike back at his tormentor and almost inevitable that it wouldn't work. Jerusalem didn't parry, he had already moved from where he was, and suffered only a mild slice across the chest. The Kurgan, meanwhile, could not defend the riposte properly and nearly lost his left arm at the shoulder. He roared again, and it almost seemed possible to hear pain as well as anger.

Tension in the small audience rose instantly; no doubt others had figured what a victory by their host could mean. Despite that risk, Methos was pleased. Now the Kurgan would be forced to reveal what special abilities came with his powerful quickening, or risk dying. His wound would not heal so quickly that he wouldn't be off-balance for at least a minute. And bad balance at this stage of the Gathering was a death sentence.

For the first time, Jerusalem paused, if only momentarily, eying the wound. The Kurgan turned sideways presenting his sword arm in the fencing pose and Jerusalem danced, testing his opponent's agility. It was lacking. An opening could be created coming at the Kurgan's neck from one side, then the other. Jerusalem launched into another preset combination and it seemed only a matter of time. When would the Kurgan show his hand?

In just a few seconds, it became apparent the Kurgan could not protect both sides of his neck and his chest. Methos strove to see how it might be a trap but Jerusalem would hardly be inexperienced enough to lose his sword in the Kurgan's ribs while leaving his own neck in harm's way. Jerusalem either came to the same conclusion or had fallen back into his meditation. A few moments later, flowing naturally from the combinations he was using, his sword went right at the Kurgan's heart.

Is something still unbelievable when you were expecting something unbelievable to happen? The Kurgan went through with the meaningless swipe of his sword at Jerusalem's neck, but that was only covering his real intent. His shoulder was still healing and his arm had hung loose. Now it straightened suddenly and he threw a right cross. This left no doubt as to his quickening-augmented ability.

The Kurgan was naturally strong but also fatally wounded, with the added fact of an injury directly inhibiting the blow. He did not connect squarely. The punch should have inconvenienced Jerusalem, perhaps staggered him for a moment or two, but left him waiting while the Kurgan's heart stopped. Instead, he left the ground and flew backward, perhaps as much as three meters. He landed inert, making it clear he was unconscious. There were audible gasps, including one from Duncan.

Methos grunted. So there it was: hardly a surprise the Kurgan would work to turn his quickening into raw strength. He recalled Dawson's comment about how it seemed they all had superpowers and his thought of a superhero movie a few minutes earlier. Only in this case, the villain was going to win.

The Kurgan fell to the ground, dying. His power, however, meant he would revive extremely quickly. It was an oddity of immortality that, while immortals did recover faster than mortals, they could often come back from death faster than recovering consciousness. Add in the power difference between the Kurgan and Jerusalem and the result was obvious. Seemingly just a few seconds later, the Kurgan was stirring.

He forced himself up with an impressive, if unsurprising, act of will, and stumbled over to his opponent. It was odd to see the Kurgan so feeble, even in victory. He paused at the still-unconscious body, clearly finding distasteful the idea of taking the head right now.

But Methos could not allow his friend to wake up. It was almost sure that Joshua had never known what hit him; with the meditative effect his style seemed to induce, it was even possible he had not been fully aware that he had ever been in danger. Methos wasn't sure Joshua would have wanted to die this way but the last thing he could do for his friend was to make sure his final few moments were peaceful. "No, do it now. It's better this way."

The Kurgan looked at him for a moment, considering. That he was Methos and that he would even bother to speak at this moment had some weight. Then the Kurgan dropped his sword, clearly rejecting the command. Methos strode forward, wielding his own sword as he did so. "Do it now, or I will."

For whatever reason, none of the others responded. Perhaps it was because this was the Kurgan and Methos facing off and one did not interfere with such things. No matter, with time of the essence, it made things easier. As Methos stood within reach of the body, sword extended, the Kurgan needed no convincing he was serious. He pushed Methos away and, possibly for the first time in nearly 3000 years, took the head of someone who could neither fight nor fear.

The first shafts of the quickening revealed the approach of dawn.

end part 20


	21. Gang oft agley

Part 21 Gang Oft Agley

Back to character stuff for a while, so shorter parts. I hope to get them out quicker.

The quickening was not particularly impressive, certainly not by the standards of an ancient. As it began to fade, Kane did his magic trick again, this time appearing near the Kurgan. Immediately, Cassandra and Duncan ran to ensure Kane didn't take the Kurgan's head, and all that power. Only Clay remained where he was, either because he wasn't needed or because he was still too distraught to act.

When Cassandra realized Duncan was with her, she left Kane to him and sought Methos, in case he had prepared some ruse to take the Kurgan's head himself. She couldn't find him, and cold panic set in. She ran from the Kurgan just as she had run toward him, heading for the only place Methos could have gone, their would-be dormitory.

There her fears were realized. Methos stood with a tottering Kell, challenge had been given and apparently accepted. "No!" a yell echoing that of Connor MacLeod a few hours ago. "You'll fight me!" She pulled Methos away from Kell and drew her blade, her long preparations tossed aside in rage, "You'll fight me now."

Methos put his hand on the hilt of sword but did not otherwise move. "It's already done, Cassandra, you can't interfere."

"The Game is over. The Rules are over. Fight me, Methos or I'll kill you where you stand. What do I care if this child takes my head afterward."

"Well, if the Rules no longer apply . . . " Methos displayed a gun, a very small gun but a gun nonetheless, and with it a very large sneer.

"How did you . . .?"

"The same way you did, I imagine." That rocked her almost as much as seeing Methos with Kell had. Did he know? 3000 years of wisdom and cunning steadied her reply – he would have guessed, of course, that she had something up her sleeve, but he would learn nothing more.

"And now Jerusalem's dead and anything goes. I do not acknowledge your duel with Kell. Don't sleep too heavily, you murderer."

Methos watched her stalk off, loose-fitting clothes swirling as she turned away. So now, in addition to sleep, he needed to double-check Joshua's security precautions to make sure he wasn't woken by a knife in his ribs. The MacLeods' were another insurance policy he needed to check on.

He glanced at Kell but the man was still barely cognizant of his surroundings. In truth, he wasn't sure Kell knew who was challenging him. If Cassandra didn't get to him first, it would be an easy win tomorrow night. Then the real battle would begin – absorbing Kell's half-insane, half-Ramirez quickening. Would he want to kill Connor or kiss him?

The younger MacLeod should now be back with his brother, expecting Methos to come and make it all better. He headed for the room Duncan had taken Connor to but the taste of Cassandra's sharp quickening grew immediately stronger as he did so; she had beaten him to it.

"How is he, Duncan?" Cassandra's voice was soft enough to cause Duncan to raise his head sharply. As soon as the Kurgan had recovered enough to growl, Duncan had raced back toward Connor, worried that Kane might see an opportunity to kill his nemesis while he was defenseless. To Duncan's relief, Connor's head was still on his shoulders. To his consternation, he was in the fetal position,

"The same. Methos said he shouldn't fight it, that he'd come out of it faster this way. But it's not happening."

"Methos is right about this, Duncan. Your brother may be too much of a warrior to do what's best in this case."

Duncan looked at her for a moment. Cassandra agreeing with Methos was pretty convincing. He spoke into Connor's ear. "Connor, it's me. Stop fighting. Let it happen. Methos says so, and Cassandra too." The words had no apparent effect.

Duncan closed his eyes, reopening them when Cassandra cleared her throat. "I'm going to do something that will anger you, Duncan, but please hear me out." He stared.

"Methos challenged Kell."

Surprise registered on Duncan's face, "But he was afraid . . ." He stopped himself, not willing to reveal too much of Methos to Cassandra.

"I'm going to ignore the challenge and try to kill Methos as soon as I have the chance."

"Cassandra, you can't . . ." She held up a hand and Duncan, by force of habit in his dealings with her as the older, wiser immortal, actually shut up.

"You know you're not going to change my mind. What I'm here to ask is that you take my head afterward." Now Duncan was silent due to surprise. "The others won't let you right away, of course, but just get me clear of them and then do it. I have no interest in the Prize, Duncan. Only in stopping Methos from getting it."

"He isn't that way anymore, Cassandra."

"You have no idea, Duncan. What he's done, what he's capable of. That's why you must be the one to win – your innocence. With your skills and the power of Methos and my quickenings, you can beat the Kurgan and save humanity from the Prize. Just make sure to kill me quickly, before Methos poisons my soul."

Duncan laid his brother down gently and stepped toward someone who had been for him a mother figure, a lover, a friend. "Your soul's already poisoned, Cassandra. The Horsemen may have started it off, but you've been doing it to yourself for 3000 years."

Cassandra would not be deterred. "Just promise me, Duncan. No one else but you can get all that power. Connor won't be ready for it and no one else can be trusted. Promise me."

He nodded, recognizing the logic in her words. At that, Cassandra departed. She would not tell Duncan that her plans to kill Methos could leave her at the mercy of any of the others. There would be almost as much danger after she won as during the duel. And while warning Duncan would be helpful, he would ask questions, perhaps even try to uncover her secret. This could not be allowed.

Methos stayed in the shadows and held down his quickening so that Cassandra didn't realize had been listening in. The others probably could control their quickenings now too, but would need time to practice that no one had. An advantage between duels, if not after the swords were drawn. "Peace, MacLeod." Methos walked in, hands raised. But Duncan was neither alarmed at his unannounced arrival nor angry at him for yet another perceived failing.

"It's not working. He's not coming out of it." The despair in his voice was hard to ignore, even for Methos.

"He needs to sleep. I'm going to give him a sedative." At Duncan's raised eyebrow, "Been a doctor, remember?"

Methos moved into Connor's line of vision, though it was not clear the older MacLeod was seeing anything. "Connor, I'm going to help you sleep. You will have very vivid dreams that will seem to be completely and utterly real. They are dreams. DREAMS. If you stay calm, you'll be back to your old self when you wake up."

After Methos finished the injection, Duncan grabbed his arm, "What if he can't stay calm?"

"Then he'll still be a mess tomorrow night and he'll die." Duncan's face tightened but, to Methos' surprise, he moved on.

"So you challenged Kell. Thought you were afraid of him sending you back down the dark path."

"No help for it now. Cassandra would be perfect to get rid of Kell but she'd never agree. Clay's a lost cause. Kane has no interest. We obviously can't rely on the Kurgan to challenge him. Connor's in no shape to do so. And I'm a better bet to deal with Kell's quickening in one night than you are."

Duncan sighed -- Methos had all the angles covered, again. "What about me?"

"Depends on your brother. If he's coherent tomorrow, we can ask him about the Kurgan or Kane. He's fought both. If he's going to lose tomorrow night, MacLeod, you may have to kill Cassandra or Clay."

"I'm not challenging either of them." It was said stiffly, rather than with Duncan's usual outraged self-righteousness.

"Again, no choice. If Connor cannot recover, you have to win tomorrow night. That means no Kurgan. And you have to absorb a strong quickening. Now that she's killed Kalas, Cassandra would be best, but I know you want to avoid her. Kane's going for Connor unless we can sidetrack him. If you let the Kurgan decide to take Cassandra, you'll be left with Clay."

"I don't want to think about this, any of it. I just want to fight and get it over with." Duncan was practically snarling.

"With you and Connor both available, we have options. But if it's just us two, Duncan, we have to smart about this or the whole world will be in jeopardy."

This prompted them both to glance at Connor, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Methos continued, "That's a good sign. We really need him – the odds are at least one of us dies in the next round."

"So you're really on our side now, Methos? No more games?"

"I've always been on your side, MacLeod. As for the games, I make no vows." The suspicion on Duncan's face was plain but further conversation was halted by the feeling of another immortal approaching.

It was Clay. His walk was steadier than it had been a few hours ago but tears were pouring down his face. "I want to talk to you, MacLeod. About Richie."

end part 21


	22. The price of victory

Part 22: The Price Of Victory

Methos rose as Duncan gestured for Clay to come in. "Not enough room in these things for four." Regarding Clay, Methos' eyes narrowed slightly, "Make sure you get enough sleep, MacLeod."

"Yes mum."

Methos looked back at Connor, sleeping peacefully. "Your brother may be his bright sunny self again in the morning." With that, he headed for his chosen room, which was right next door. The power of his own quickening had held back Kronos' memories to this point but they would unavoidably flood over him when he slept. Methos wanted more control than that, and a long period of meditation was in order.

First, of course, was a painstaking security sweep. Fortunately, the rooms were small -- it's not like anyone was going to have a party. He thought about going back to MacLeod's room and doing a sweep there but Kane was the biggest threat to the Highlanders and he didn't want to kill them from a distance. Kane wanted to see their suffering, and to gloat. Cassandra, on the other hand, just wanted him dead, any way possible.

Nothing. Either Cassandra hadn't had an opportunity or, his often dominant paranoid side insisted, she had something even better planned. He could contemplate those possibilities in further depth or he could face up to Kronos' quickening. Both were unpleasant but better to deal with Kronos while awake than asleep. Methos did his usual stretching and other exercises in preparation, then began to meditate. Today wasn't an easy day to relax and ponder but he'd had more difficult. It only took a few minutes longer than usual. And Kronos life came rushing at him like a . . . train? Perhaps a herd of bison was more appropriate.

The first impressions of a quickening are the last thoughts of the dead immortal. Methos was hardly surprised Kronos would send him a message this way, though he was surprised at the message itself. He had feared Kronos' version of the most terrible things he had done in the Death persona. Instead, Kronos had focused on memories of their brotherhood. How they had met, the bond that had been formed between them and with Silas, the genuine joy that sometimes found them even in their grisly rampage. After all, one could not be together for centuries and have no moments of true happiness.

Methos grits his teeth and almost loses his emotional balance. This sneak preview is only going to make the full movie that much worse. Did Kronos do it on purpose?

Now he sees Kronos' early memories. The familial abuse, the enslavement of the tribe, Kronos' first death, and his horrifying revenge. Centuries of loneliness, fueling and fueled by hatred. The discovery of other immortals – tense meetings to share knowledge. These were people who obviously made a huge impression on Kronos given their importance in his memories. Yet he knew each for only a few days, a terrible substitute for a teacher.

The gathering of the Horsemen. Silas' utter lack of guile and Methos' enjoyment of that lack making it impossible for even Kronos to believe ill of his new-found brothers. A kinship of sorts with the deranged Caspian, and a warning to Kronos of the line which could not be crossed, lest madness prevail.

The atrocities they wreaked and Kronos' enjoyment of them. The pleasure he took in Methos' own calculations – ice to his fire. Methos knew he would see Kronos' view of Death's murdering, slaughtering; he didn't anticipate the utter lack of expression on his own face in each and every memory.

Then the end. Kronos' grief at their separation, his blustering attempt to continue the old ways in a new world, his failures, his searching, the brief joy of finding Methos and then Caspian and Silas, the pain, fear, and anger at Methos' betrayal, and the ensuing plotting.

Always the plotting. For one of the greatest killers in history, the bulk of Kronos' memory was of plotting. Oh, there were highs and lows but mostly there was plotting. This raid, this trap, this act of vengeance. Kronos was almost a caricature of a villain in some ways, even while being noble in a few others. Methos had to laugh, bringing his meditation to an abrupt end. Of all things, he never expected laughter from Kronos' quickening. Not healthy laughter, anyway. The process had been utterly exhausting and he now desperately needed sleep, many hours of sleep in order to be ready tomorrow. But there could be no more doubt: he had left Death behind.

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If the Kurgan had known Methos' thoughts, he might have bellowed that he wished his last victim could have left the past behind, as well. The Kurgan had absorbed stronger quickenings, but never one where the memories were so boring. A life which changed little in 3200 years: practice day after day, countless hours musing about the nature of Holy Ground, awe at some mythical super-immortal, worship of whom hadn't become popular until the Kurgan was more than nine centuries old. There wasn't even any interesting sex. At least not by his standards.

Worse, he could not help but feel Joshua's love of the city whose name he took, his devotion to its history and its people. At least for now, he could not help it. At the next quickening, these feelings would fade and the Kurgan would no longer be encumbered. He growled – he had better not be.

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Just a few steps away, hidden to both immortal and mortal eyes by an illusion of darkness, sat Kane. He probably should be further from the Kurgan but at the moment he was concentrating on self-loathing. No choice – Guanyin had hated him. He knew she did, of course, and had tried to prepare for it, but anticipating and experiencing are very different things. Especially when a 2800 year-old quickening was involved.

She had been Nakano's lover two millennia ago, and remained his friend until Kane killed the mystic. Worse, as part of Genghis Khan's horde, Kane had specifically sought out and killed the most knowledgeable and dangerous men and women in the Mongols' path, immortal and mortal alike. These, of course, were her friends and pupils.

The hatred itself did not bother him; he felt the same about Connor MacLeod, the man who had entombed him for more than 400 years. But Guanyin's hatred of him could surface at a crucial moment as a desire for his own destruction. Nor could he allow himself to be overwhelmed by blind hate: the focus must remain on MacLeod. If sleep was to come, it would not be restful.

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Jacob Kell was not sure exactly where he was. He wasn't even sure of who he was. He had always avoided strong quickenings, substituting quantity of kills for quality. One of the reasons was that he couldn't stomach the idea of losing even the smallest bit of himself to another. The blending of immortal memories and even, perhaps, souls was revolting. Unholy.

If Kell could remember clearly, he would know that his previous, untarnished self had accepted the taint as the unavoidable cost of killing Connor MacLeod. The original plan was to cope as well as possible until the Prize was won, then conduct a rather nasty purification ritual, including starvation and self-inflicted wounds. As misguided as that might have been, it wasn't Kell's biggest error.

Yesterday's Kell did not understand the overwhelming nature of Tak-ne's (as he was originally known) quickening. Not only the number of memories to try to absorb, but their nature: the overwhelming guilt – something Kell hadn't experienced in centuries, the desire for expiation through righteous deeds, and the love of Connor. Tak-ne's life wasn't just long and full, it was alien. Combined with Kell's deep-seeded revulsion at having to absorb any powerful immortal, it made for an impossible combination.

As had happened with Kamir, two immortals did not become one. Instead, it would have taken a competent professional just a few minutes to determine that there were still two personalities housed in the one psyche.

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Duncan wasn't feeling entirely steady, himself. He needed to take Methos' advice, as well, and face the life of the 1000+ year-old women warrior he had killed. He also needed to rest. But Clay was standing in his doorway with Richie's memories. As Methos left, he gestured for the man to sit down.

The grief was plain on his face, but Clay's voice was firm. "It was bad luck, MacLeod. Carter died due to bad luck."

"Tell me. Richie didn't say much about it."

"They ran into each other by accident. Carter was snide." Clay paused, smiling a bit, "He was like that. Richie overreacted. He was angry at something, at you I think."

"Yes, I had a dark quickening." Duncan paused, but Clay seemed to know what he meant. "Almost killed him."

Clay closed his eyes, "So he felt betrayed, abandoned, alone. Made up for it by being aggressive. Of course he did, he was still a boy, even by mortal standards. And I lost Carter." Clay looked at Duncan, "I wanted him to be a hunter, a vicious killer I could righteously strike down. But he was just an upset kid who regretted causing me pain. Can you imagine, MacLeod? Richie actually was sorry for me! Where do I put the hate now?"

Duncan held his eyes, because Clay expected it. Then the older man rose and said stiffly, "If you want my head tomorrow, it's yours. I have no desire to continue."

The answer came before Duncan even realized it, "I'll let you know." Clay merely nodded and left but Duncan did a double-take. Should he have dismissed Clay's supposed debt to him? Should he have asked more about Richie? Where did that thought come from? He had planned on trying to sleep, but tension suddenly filled his body.

end part 22


	23. At dawn they slept

Part 23 At Dawn They Slept

A few steps from Duncan's door and Clay spotted Cassandra. She had been listening, of course. Not that he cared. Without even revenge on Ryan to focus on, Clay cared about nothing at all.

Cassandra stepped into his path, "If Duncan challenges someone else, I'll be the one to take your head." Clay merely shrugged and stepped around her. He didn't even ask me about Methos, Cassandra realized in surprise. He must be farther gone than I thought.

Cassandra's reasoning behind the choice of Clay as the best alternative if she really couldn't get Methos was simple. Duncan and Connor were off-limits. One of them needed to win, preferably Duncan. Almost as important, one of them needed to take her head after she killed Methos, to make sure his vile quickening didn't corrupt her and eventually claim the Prize.

She had to avoid the Kurgan at all costs – none of her tricks would slow him even a little. Kane would be an easy victory, his mystical abilities were inferior to her own. But he was insanely obsessed with Connor, something which might distract her if she absorbed his quickening. He was also extremely difficult to find and challenge when he didn't want to be.

Kell was a better swordsman and would be more difficult for her. In addition, he was currently crazy. She would have no time to deal with his particular insanity; she had to get to Methos immediately after winning her next challenge. Clay's grief would be far easier to deal with and, while he was also superior to her with a sword, he would have no heart for the fight.

Cassandra wondered how well she herself had absorbed the last quickening. Kalas was an old, powerful immortal but junior to her on both counts. She had felt surprisingly little after taking his head. The idea of winning the Prize was more attractive now, probably due to Kalas' all-consuming ambition. She would have to ensure that Duncan remembered to take her head immediately after she killed Methos, so that she had no chance to change her mind and convince him to do otherwise.

Duncan had heard Clay and Cassandra speak, saw Clay walk off, and then watched Cassandra lose herself in thought. He kept out of sight. She has a backup a plan and you don't even have a plan, a sharp voice complained internally. Duncan was used to hearing voices in his mind – all victorious immortals were – but this one was louder than usual. Not that he would answer; that would not be a step in the right direction.

It all depended on Connor. If he couldn't fight properly tomorrow, he might very well ask Clay to let Connor to take his head. It was a colder calculation than he was used to making but it would keep Connor alive, at the cost of someone Duncan respected but who had lost the will to live.

But this left Duncan few options. If he couldn't get Connor, Kane would come for him and he would be very hard to avoid, considering Duncan couldn't see him. There was little point trying to challenge someone tonight; no one would be willing to fight again and tomorrow Kane could just put himself between Duncan and his chosen opponent.

If Connor could fight, though, Duncan had a decision to make. Either Methos would stay locked up with Kell or Cassandra would get him. If Methos stayed with Kell, Duncan could either take Clay's head and let Cassandra fight the Kurgan or challenge the Kurgan himself. The second option scared him more than it should have and the first bothered him less. If Cassandra was able to engage Methos, at least he had some choices. Great plan, the voice muttered.

Duncan shook his head violently, as if there was something he could expel that way. His thoughts were still his own – no split personalities here – but they were unfamiliar somehow. He needed to center himself, empty his mind of unwanted feelings. His martial arts exercises had brought him through some very difficult situations and they would again. But it was very hard work; Duncan had to push himself almost to exhaustion before he felt truly calm. And even then there was a twinge he couldn't drive away.

When exhaustion finally forced him to stop, he found Methos standing in the doorway, smirking, "Something bothering you, MacLeod?"

Duncan got straight to the point, knowing Methos would know exactly what he was referring to, "Is it her quickening? Or . . . how I beat her?"

"Nope." Still smirking. Duncan closed on him, grabbed him by the collar, and nearly lifted him off the ground. Methos did not react but he did answer. "It's what you know you're going to have to do to win the next time." And Methos found himself released.

"That's what you've always wanted, isn't it? For me to face up to the fact that I'm not so pure, not so noble."

Methos stayed exactly where he was. His face did not alter, his voice did not change. "You could repeat what you did tonight 100 times, MacLeod, and still be far purer than anyone else here. Even your brother." Now his tone became more clipped, "What I've always wanted is for you to stop acting like a child and have a chance to actually win."

"Is that what you're here for? One last lecture before we lock our doors and windows?"

"No, seeing you taking your frustrations out on the air was just a bonus. I came to tell you something that's genuinely important." He stopped and, as always, out-waited the younger man. When MacLeod finally turned to look directly at him, Methos added, "Tomorrow. It's very important that you and Connor trust me. No matter what."

"And why should we do that again?"

"At this point, you have to decide that for yourselves. I know you'll never abandon your brother and I know he thinks you're a fool for trusting me. But tomorrow there's no going back – are we two and one or are we three?"

Methos departed yet again. This time, Duncan locked up to make sure. But it was a good thing he had worn himself out with the martial arts forms, or sleep would have been much harder to come by.

He was rudely awakened by a booming, "Yae still snorin'? Yae haf chars to do!" And looked up into the grinning face of Connor MacLeod.

Duncan's joy faded quickly. "Connor, are you . . . Do you know where you are?"

Connor took two steps back and looked very thoughtful, "Aberdeen 1644? No, that's not it. Quebec 1759? No, no. Oh, I have it. Jerusalem, the Crusades! Wait, I wasn't born then . . ." Duncan's frown was belied by the ferocious bear hug he gave his kinsman.

"I was so worried, Connor. That you'd never be you again."

"If I could have had a straight thought, I'd have worried, too. But I heard you talking to me, Duncan, and I remembered you were there in the worst of it. You saved me, my true brother." He wrapped his hand around Duncan's neck bringing their heads to touch. Connor was almost laughing, while Duncan was near tears.

Duncan straightened slowly, "It wasn't just me. Methos helped you sleep, told you it was a dream."

"Dreams. I think I might even remember hearing the old man's voice."

"What was it like?"

Connor was surprised, "So you had no trouble with your quickening?"

Duncan shook his head but then admitted, "Maybe a little."

"Mine was more than a little. The first wave was complete confusion – Kamir no longer knew who he was. Then I got his life but so fast and disjointed, it was like a new quickening. Then Grayson hit me."

"It must have been horrifying, reliving all that brutality as if you were doing it."

"Actually, it wasn't bad in that way. Grayson was more of a soldier and a commander than a murderer and a rapist, himself. Not much of a difference morally between telling your men they can do whatever they want and doing it yourself, but much better when you have to relive it."

"So what was it, then?"

"It goes on and on. Soon you have more memories, feelings, thoughts of someone else than you do of yourself. I kept trying to say 'I'm me! I'm Connor!' but wave after wave of events and beliefs say otherwise. It was like trying to stay afloat under a waterfall."

"Connor, I'm so sorry."

Another grin, where these had been very few and far between for years, perhaps decades. "It's over now, Duncan. And I'll know how to deal with it next time." He began bouncing around the room as if he couldn't stay in his skin. "And you can't believe how incredible I feel now. Like nothing could possibly hurt me, like you could swing your sword at my neck and it would just bounce off."

"Not that you mention it, I do feel a bit more vibrant than usual for first thing in the morning."

"A bit! I could take on the world! Duncan, you need an ancient quickening. You should kill Clay or Cassandra tonight." Duncan, who had been very worried about having some of the same thoughts, was taken aback at the casual way Connor was speaking. Connor eventually calmed enough to see face.

"You just don't understand, little brother. I can win now. I know I said I could before but I didn't really believe it. Now I really can. I can save the world from being ravaged by one of our kind, just as we both have always worked for. He paused, "Duncan, I'm going to release him from his vow. I'm going to challenge the Kurgan."

end part 23

Author's note: time for some audience participation. There have been almost 5000 hits – somebody's still reading, right?

I cannot make up my mind how to handle the next round. There are always three battles I really want to write and one I don't. But when I fix the weak one, another weak one is created. There are going to be four duels, or three duels and someone just beheading Clay. Who should face who?

Everybody gets a vote (Rivana gets two for diligence). Plus your vote counts double if you tie your reason to my story, rather than saying you like the movies better than the TV series or whatever. Thanks "everyone."


	24. Timing is everything

Part 24 Timing Is Everything

As they stretched, washed up, and dressed, Duncan regarded his older kinsman. With Grayson's ancient quickening apparently absorbed, Connor seemed more alive than he had in decades. Unfortunately, he seemed less cautious – while it was true that they would have to fight the Kurgan eventually, why do so before it was necessary?

Duncan was a bit reassured by the fact that the two of them had no idea what was really going to happen, who had challenged who and how the challenges would be enforced with the Prize so near. For that matter, it wasn't even clear if they would fight during the day or wait again until night. It would be safer to wait but it had become obvious that much immortal wisdom had gone by the wayside when the Gathering had begun.

While he hadn't been transformed the way Connor reported, Duncan did feel very good. Energetic, light on his feet – his victory had made him stronger, as well. He wondered whether the others were more like him today or more like Connor. There was a knock at the door, "Methos," said Connor, causing Duncan to look at him with eyes wide. Apparently, Connor didn't just feel more capable.

Duncan whipped the door open, ready for some snide remark and had his voice stay in his throat. Half of Methos' face was painted blue, and a mask lay atop his head. Duncan had never seen it before but he knew it must be a copy of his Death mask, perhaps even the original. Methos also wore colored clothing and patches of armor. Duncan stepped back involuntarily.

"I knew you'd show your true colors eventually, old man." Connor's voice was still cheery.

Methos/Death looked at him sharply, obviously taking in the new, improved Connor, "What fool idea has Grayson gotten into your head, boy?" The voice was rough and seemed to resonate, a trick Duncan knew some older immortals had mastered as a means of intimidation.

Duncan wanted to answer but words still would not come. Connor seemed to be having no such trouble, "Not your concern, Horseman." Methos strode to within a foot of Connor.

"Then perhaps it would be better if I took your head for myself."

This finally prompted some action from Duncan, who separated the two while staring at Methos. "Methos, are you in control . . . or is it Kronos?"

"Do I look like Pestilence, you idiot?"

Duncan couldn't believe the change in Methos from last night, it was far more dramatic than the already disturbing one in Connor. Last night, Methos had asked for trust; was it all an act? But to become Death again – how could that be an act?

"I knew Silas and Caspian weren't good enough and that I would have to kill Kronos. But I expected Tak-ne … Ramirez and Grayson to be here, not you two infants. You have to be the luckiest immortal in history, Highlander, to have Tak-ne protect you, then get Grayson's quickening because Kamir cheated to kill him." Connor swung around to look at Methos who sneered,

"Of course, you haven't figured it out. Ramirez, as you call him, had been on a kick to protect young immortals from the Kurgan. He trailed the Kurgan, found you first, trained you well beyond what any new immortal ever gets before they are sent away by their teacher, and put you off on an errand at just the right time so the Kurgan didn't kill you. He had sheltered students from the Kurgan before but never at risk of his own life. You must have had some aptitude.

Then you trained Duncan. I must admit Ramirez is a better teacher than he was a fighter. Still, it's painful to have such whelp here."

"And what about Kell, Horseman? More luck that there are three highlanders here at the end?"

"Kell's here because he cheated. A cheater was always going to be here at the end, it just happened to be him. Of course, you gave him some helpful motivation by murdering his father."

Connor grabbed Methos by the neck but the Horseman just laughed, and swatted Connor's arms away as if he was a child. For the first time since he woke, doubt flashed across Connor's face.

Methos headed to the door, then turned back, "Highlander, you should fight Kane. He wants you, too, and no one will interfere. He has a strong quickening, especially after killing Guanyin. You might lose but you're familiar with his abilities. MacLeod, you should take Clay's head. He's not as powerful as Kane is now but he's much older than you and he's beaten some very impressive immortals in his time. He'll just put his head on your lap and you shouldn't have too much trouble with the quickening. That will leave the Kurgan to get rid of Cassandra."

Both younger immortals objected at the same time,

"I am not helping kill Cassandra!"

"I'm challenging the Kurgan!"

Methos ignored Duncan and returned to Connor, "You blind fool. So you feel strong today, do you? You think you're the only one? I killed Kronos, the Kurgan killed Jerusalem, Cassandra killed Kalas, Kane killed Guanyin. If he can recover in time, Kell killed Ramirez. Everyone here got stronger except Clay. And the Kurgan, Cassandra, and I are ancients; even Kane is much older than you. You have no idea what we're capable of. You don't even know what you're capable of now."

Connor stepped away, "Duncan, throw the table at me." At Duncan's blank look, Methos picked up the table and hurled it at Connor, hard. Connor flinched but did not move backward and the table shattered against his frame. There were no cuts, no scratches, no sign of any impact at all.

"Hmmph. That explains why Grayson was spotless despite all his wars. With this ability, you might live another day, Highlander, but only if you use what little brain you have. Remember what Ramirez taught you: the Kurgan is the strongest of us all. Your luck in beating him last time and winning that vow means you don't have to face him until the end, don't waste it."

"Not luck, old man – I was better."

"And if that woman had been elsewhere? Or dead? Or too terrified to brain the Kurgan when he was about to take your head?"

"If I don't fight him today, Duncan or I'll just have to fight him tomorrow. What's the difference?"

"The difference is you can get another powerful quickening before then."

"And so will he!"

"That's not how it works, whelp. The Kurgan has killed so many, he doesn't gain from another quickening the way you will. Every fight gives you a chance to catch up a bit more."

"You'd do anything to avoid Cassandra, wouldn't you."

"Hah! She's making the same mistake you are. She should be trying to narrow the gap with me as much as possible before we fight. And she's old enough to know better." Methos stopped for a moment and shook his head, "Kronos should have waited too, though I knew he wouldn't. And Ramirez basically killed himself. Blind luck always matters, but the Gathering has turned out to be as much about mental imbalances as swordsmanship."

Duncan took this opportunity to joke, "So says the man dressed like a bronze age scourge." In the past, this would at least have provoked an exasperated correction from Methos. Not this time. He merely glared,

"And you. What a waste. All that skill and no power. It's my fault for not sending more vulnerable ancients your way, though if you hadn't let Grayson and Clay go, this conversation wouldn't be necessary." Methos' eyes narrowed, "You can still get Clay. I don't suppose you'd be willing to let your younger brother here take your head, Highlander? That would solve a lot of problems."

Connor just snorted at this, but Duncan could hardly shake it off so easily. "You, you . . . the whole time you were manipulating me? Setting up challenges that would make me stronger?"

The sneer returned, "'Live Highlander, grow stronger.' Of course, you aren't the real Highlander, he is. But you developed equal skill with a blade and better martial arts. You were the most promising candidate in the entire Watcher list. Too bad the Gathering came early and ruined your chances. I never took it seriously enough."

Duncan looked a bit unsteady, "How can we, how can I . . . what should I do?"

Connor grabbed him, "You can't seriously be listening to him, Duncan. Look at him – he's a Horseman!"

Duncan met his eyes, "Methos asked me to trust him last night, Connor. And I do." Connor shook his head in disgust.

"So now you want to live? Two days ago, you were begging me to kill you." The sarcasm was heavy, even for Methos. Duncan nodded. "Yes? Yes, what? Yes, you were begging me to kill you?"

"Yes, I want to live! You ass!"

The slightest hint of a smile crossed Methos' face.

"Kell has taken lots of heads but the Watcher files are clear that all were weak except Jin Ke and Ramirez. And he's a child, like the two of you. Still, if he's thinking straight, he will probably kill you. If he isn't, you'll have to absorb an insane quickening. Kane has fewer immortal kills than Clay, and only two of them powerful, but he's older. He will also probably kill you. If you manage to win, he's not insane but he kills for sport and he hates your brother. If the Kurgan somehow didn't kill you, you'd never recover from his quickening in time. You'd be a vegetable for days. You won't fight your brother, you won't fight Cassandra."

Now Methos was definitely smiling, ferociously. "Clay is not too much weaker than Kane and Kell and he still will be the strongest quickening you've taken. You should have less in the way of problem than Connor had absorbing Kamir and Grayson. And if you don't kill him, someone else will have an easy path to another day of life. Or," Methos drew his sword, "you could try me."

end part 24


	25. Preparing for Armageddon

Part 25 Preparing For Armageddon

Connor moved to help his brother against Methos' apparent threat but Duncan looked him off, "You know I don't want to fight you, Methos."

"Then make up your mind about who you want to fight!"

"I . . . I will. Give me a minute."

Methos turned toward Connor, "Forget it, Horseman; I'm challenging the Kurgan."

"Fine. Spend good time with your brother, MacLeod, for this day is his last." At that, Methos stalked out.

Duncan took the words to heart, "Connor, are you sure?"

"Yes. The only reason I would hesitate is that, if I lose, it will allow the Kurgan to come after you one day sooner. But I won't lose." The Connor smile Duncan had missed so much was back. "What about you?" Duncan knew Connor had opinions about who he should fight and was holding back because he wouldn't listen to Duncan's own views about choosing the Kurgan.

"I don't think it's going to be Kell. With Ramirez' quickening, he's either too tough for me at the moment or insane. I might take his head but I'd lose, one way or the other." Connor grunted agreement and Duncan continued, "Kane will want you, but he'll be satisfied with me, I'm sure. What do you think about my chances against him?"

"You're the better swordsman. But you haven't had much experience with his kind of mystical abilities. It's a toss-up. I'm sorry to say that, Duncan, but I have to be honest. Clay is the easy choice."

"It just feels wrong, Connor. I already don't feel exactly like myself after the last quickening and killing Clay like that would be just as bad as having to absorb Kane."

"Then Cassandra or Methos or Kell will get him. He may not have taken an ancient quickening last night but he's still powerful."

Duncan's face tightened. If he chose to fight Kane and Cassandra was successful in getting to Methos, Kell would kill Clay. That was an extremely unpleasant thought on more than one count. Clay was going to die and preferred that Duncan take his head. But he was acting like the child Methos always accused him of being, putting his nobility ahead of responsibility. "I'll do it. I'll give Clay what he wants."

Connor smiled his old smile again and clasped his brother on the shoulder. "Good. Now that we can be sure one of us will live to fight another day, let's go see what our ancient friends have in mind."

They emerged from the would-be dormitory to a spectacle. Connor chuckled, "You know, Duncan, I think we're underdressed."

The Kurgan had matched Methos in mask and armor, in his case looking most like a giant vulture. From stories, Duncan knew this to be the way Connor had first seen him closing on 500 years ago. Cassandra was dressed entirely in white, shrouding even her face and hair. Either the clothing or some power she had caused her to glow. The three were closest to each other and stood against the backdrop of the hills of the Old City. Something close to awe grew in Duncan. This exact scene could just as easily have taken place 2500 years ago.

Given the others, it was no surprise that Kane was dressed as a Mongol warrior of eight centuries ago, complete with helmet and bone jewelry. Most Mongol warriors, though, were not surrounded by flame. Clay actually looked worse than Connor and Duncan, at least they had changed into new clothes. Perhaps most ominous, Kell had emerged in drab gray and black and was clearly unfocused. But he had tattooed or even carved on his face the multiple crosses he used as symbols. Jacob Kell's persona was obviously still in there, somewhere.

Half-a-kilometer away, Joe Dawson and two other Watchers tried to avoid unnecessary attention from the locals in the light of day, while maintaining surveillance of the remaining immortals. The sight of Methos as Death had unnerved Joe and the adjacent views of the Kurgan and Cassandra terrified him.

No one had any idea what the Prize was, or even if there was one other than simply more power, but the fate of the world could be decided as soon as the next few hours, if the immortals choose to abandon caution and duel in daylight. The ancient immortals seemed so much more formidable; not surprising, given how much longer they had to prepare. With the Death mask on, Joe could no longer even be sure of Methos and the rest of the Watchers certainly were not. The world needed Duncan or Connor MacLeod to win, and they looked outclassed.

Since the Gathering began, there had been a vicious power struggle inside the Watcher organization. One group demanded that the Watchers assault the winner of the Prize, regardless, and another wanted to decide on an assault based on who won. The second group was larger, but itself divided over who deserved to be attacked. At this point, it was Methos, Cassandra, and Clay provoking dispute.

Another problem was this was a highly security-oriented country; automatic weapons and explosives could be smuggled in but no heavy weapons would escape detection. And certainly no team could fly in from offshore without being blown to pieces. If the Watchers on the ground in Jerusalem went after the last immortal, they might not have the firepower to do more than anger him or her.

To compensate, the full Watcher files would, if it were deemed necessary, be transmitted to various national governments. There would be disbelief and hesitation but at least the world would have immediate knowledge of what it faced if the winner turned out to be as dangerous as Joe feared.

The final eight immortals took in the sight of each other, then merely stared. Apparently no one wanted to speak. Kane was staring especially at Kell, who still seemed unpleasantly confused. After several minutes of this, Kane grinned and approached Connor, "You're mine, Highlander."

"Sorry to disappoint you, mole man, but I'm fighting the Kurgan."

"You'll have to kill me to get to him."

The Kurgan's deep bass cut off Connor's reply, "You release me from my vow?"

This time Connor's smile was feral, "As soon as our duel begins, your vow is negated."

The Kurgan stood over Kane, who backed up half a step before catching himself, "Get out of my way, or die."

Kane did not know if his illusions could fool the Kurgan but he did know that, if they didn't, he had no chance. Connor MacLeod would very probably be killed himself, but that wasn't good enough – he had to suffer. There was one solution to this otherwise impossible situation: "I give way, then. But only if I fight Duncan MacLeod first, so that his 'brother' must watch him die."

Now Clay spoke, softly. "I've already challenged Duncan MacLeod."

Kane sneered, "Go back to crying on your pillow, or I'll kill you here and kill MacLeod tonight."

Methos stepped forward, "No fighting now. Where we are, with lightning strikes in the daytime, we could have a helicopter assault company on top of us in less than an hour."

Duncan glanced over at the detail Methos had provided, then realized the Watchers must have discussed hundreds of scenarios like this since the Gathering in Jerusalem had become unmistakable. And Methos could hack Watcher files at will.

Several of the immortals grimaced but it was too obvious Methos was right. Kane was not done, however, "I fight one of the MacLeods tonight. Those who try to deny me both of them will find my blade at the back of their neck before they even know I'm there." He took two steps away from the group, then vanished.

"Well, that makes things more interesting," Connor said cheerfully.

The Kurgan approached Connor with his hands up, showing no immediate ill intent. He spoke low, "I can see him. I care nothing about whether he fights the other one of you but you and I will meet tonight and I will be released from my vow. If he gets in our way, I'll take his head. Or I'll let you do it, if you want."

"That's very generous of you." Connor maintained a nonchalant air but the Kurgan's willingness to just let him have Kane's head was unnerving, or at least it was to Duncan. The Kurgan licked his lips for a rather long time, then headed back inside.

Cassandra, of course, was watching Methos, who was regarding Kell, who himself had been staring at Kane. She moved into Methos' line of sight, "The same applies to us. We will fight or I will simply kill you. While you're fighting him, while you're in the quickening, I don't care."

Duncan was about to say something to her when Methos suddenly grabbed Cassandra by the throat and lifted her off entirely the ground, "Didn't you learn your lesson 3000 years ago? I do what I want, when I want."

Cassandra could only muster a whisper against Methos' grip, "Until Kronos speaks, then you cower like a dog."

Duncan had been moving to stop his friend from being strangled, but halted at this. Cassandra was talking openly about her time as a slave, something she had needed to do since it happened.

Methos threw her to the ground. "That was a mistake. One I believe I've rectified." He gestured widely – Kronos was gone.

Cassandra rose and the movement revealed ugly bruises on her neck underneath the white shroud. "I will have my vengeance upon you, Methos," She said as loudly and distinctly as she could. A moment later, she thought to add, "And you'll not get the Prize, murderer."

She gathered herself and departed. Methos immediately resumed his observation of Kell, who was now staring into what seemed to be empty space on the other side of the compound. Duncan finally had the chance to say something, "It will be difficult to avoid her."

"I may not have to." Before Duncan could ask, Methos went inside as well. That left no one between Duncan and Haresh Clay.

"Have you decided yet, Duncan MacLeod?"

"Yes. I won't let Kell have your quickening."

Clay hesitated for moment, then bowed. As he departed, Connor joined his brother, "So what are you going to do about Kane? He's scared of the Kurgan but he'll do just about anything to kill you in front of me."

"I'll take Clay's head just before sundown, you'll protect me from Kane during the quickening, then I'll fight him. We'll let Methos, Cassandra, and Kell figure out for themselves who fights who."

Connor nodded in approval at Duncan's unusual willingness to be practical, "You know, there might be hope for you. You could be a decent immortal, someday."

Despite his worries about the Kurgan, Duncan had to laugh at having the old Connor back. But his reply was interrupted by an all-too-familiar accent. "Do not concern yourself with that savage, Duncan MacLeod, I will kill him for you. And you," Jacob Kell turned to the man he hated more than anything in life, "ward yourself well against the Kurgan." At that, he simply turned away from the other two Highlanders and again peered across the compound.

Duncan motioned Connor to get some distance from Kell, "Was that Kell threatening us or Ramirez offering to protect us?"

"I have no idea."

end part 25


	26. Fly on the wall

Part 26 Fly On The Wall

It was time to eat. A fly on the wall would have heard the same chuckle and seen the same expression as various immortals made the same discovery. Their deceased host had provided each room with a small refrigerator plus a separate cupboard full of food, sealed by chains and containing combination locks to be used once swords shattered those chains. The rations were hardly luxuriant but they would easily suffice for the next several days.

After lunch, Duncan and Connor held possibly the last in 400+ years of sparring sessions. Connor noted that Duncan seemed even more agile, while Duncan marveled at Connor's abilities to shrug off blows from fists, feet, and, to a slight extent, swords. With each other as protection against a surprise attack from Kane, they moved freely on the grounds, while the other immortals had retreated to the dormitory. When resting or exchange wisdom, they could hear the Kurgan either practicing or simply destroying his room on general principle. What the remaining immortals were doing, however, could not be surmised from a distance.

Kane was practicing magic again, in this case one very special illusion. He had hoped to save it for Connor MacLeod but, if Duncan MacLeod proved too difficult a foe, it would be worth revealing this trick to see the Highlander suffer from the death of his younger kinsman.

Cassandra was alternating between practicing and meditating, sometimes combining the two. She had to be calm for the hypnotic effect she was developing from sword and body movements to work. And she had to practice the movements so that they were smooth enough that Methos wouldn't kill her while she was trying to influence him. She knew the Voice and her other abilities were enhanced by Kalas' strong quickening but Methos had taken Kronos. She would have to be perfect against him or risk her very ugly weapon of last resort.

Methos was concentrating on bringing his quickening to bear. He had never bothered much with hand-to-hand skills. While he was the most experienced swordsman, he wasn't necessarily the best. The Kurgan was superior and the group of Scots might be comparable, as well. His advantage came from the 5000 years, topped off by Kronos powerful quickening. He needed to use those assets to heal deep wounds on command, and to stretch further his ability to alter his own mass.

Kell did not appear to be doing much of anything. Every few minutes, his face would tighten in concentration, as if he were trying to decide on something or perhaps use his quickening to some unknown end. But even a fly on one of the walls of his room would have been unsure of his behavior.

Haresh Clay did not bother with the food. Instead, he took in for the last time the images and possessions of his friend of centuries, Carter Wellan. He had Carter's quickening now, through Ryan, and it was very easy to drift into one of their many shared memories. In truth, he would have liked to spend a few days, or longer, enjoying those memories. But the others would never have tolerated his sitting while they fought and it would have desecrated Carter's life to be forced to give his power to a raving maniac like the Kurgan. MacLeod had spared Clay before and was deserving. Perhaps then, the young immortal would be strong enough to defeat a Kane.

Clay indulged in one last group of Carter's memories, made all the more vivid because he remembered the same events. When he came back to himself, it was unclear how much time had passed, but there was no need to wait any further. He heard the sound of swords and Scottish accents outside his window and sought Duncan MacLeod.

When Clay appeared nearby, Connor immediately stepped back -- it was not his place to intrude. He had some understanding of Clay's state of mind. When his adopted daughter Rachel had been killed by Kell, the last in a series of murders of those close to him, Connor lost his will to live. Only Duncan had been able to bring him back from the edge, and Clay had lost his Duncan.

Clay handed Duncan his sword. He remained standing, facing Duncan with eyes open. When MacLeod hesitated, Clay spoke evenly: "It's what we do." A moment later, his head fell to the ground and the quickening began to gather.

As Duncan was being pummeled by electric bolts, a cry of rage echoed against the compound walls. Kane. It took even Connor's practiced eye a moment to find Kane in his shroud of fire and smoke and by then he was running toward Duncan's vulnerable form. Connor's blade was out, he should be able to get there first . . . and Jacob Kell was already doing the job for him, sword in hand.

Kane tried to shadow himself from Kell's eyes and slip around him. Connor was already in place to protect Duncan so it would have to be Connor who died today, no matter what the Kurgan said. The others would keep the Kurgan from killing Kane immediately and, after that, anything could happen. Connor MacLeod must be punished.

But as Kane moved closer to the two MacLeods, Kell was in his path again. His voice was formal, yet jovial, "Perhaps you could not see through the haze in which you are surrounded, but my last kill was Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez. Or Tak-ne, if you prefer." In the course of two sentences, Kell's accent changed from English to Spanish to something Kane didn't recognize. "He has some considerable experience in applying his quickening; thus I am having little difficulty seeing you despite the parlor tricks."

Kell was referring to Tak-ne in the present tense. Clearly insane. And while he was late getting to the right spot and not quite directly between Kane and his prey, he obviously wasn't entirely fooled by the illusions, either.

Worse, the Kurgan had emerged from the building and was approaching Connor MacLeod. Even if Kane struck the first blow against Connor, he doubted the Kurgan would respect the Rules enough to let the duel proceed uninterrupted. It appeared he had no choice but to kill the lunatic in front of him, then await events. Perhaps he could recover fast enough to challenge and kill Duncan MacLeod while Connor was still alive. That would not be sufficient revenge, but it would be close.

"Very well." With challenge accepted, multiple Kanes appeared. One was suddenly behind Kell, one near Duncan, one near Connor. Kell parried a blow in front of him that seemed to appear from nowhere and all three Kanes vanished. None of the other immortals had flinched, though in Duncan's case it was because he was still paralyzed by Clay's quickening. Kell sought Kane again, then had to pivot to defend himself again against a nearly invisible threat.

"Hard to win like that," Duncan was now standing without Connor's assistance.

Connor shrugged, "Kell's eyes will adjust. If he can survive just a few minutes, the battle will be much less one-sided." Connor turned to an impassive Methos, "I'm surprised your greatest admirer isn't here challenging you immediately."

Methos continued to watch the odd battle while responding, "She poked her head out after the quickening started, then retreated when Kell intercepted Kane."

"Probably going back for something especially dark and dangerous," Connor was smirking.

"No doubt, since otherwise she'll be dead very quickly." At this Connor and Duncan exchanged glances -- Methos' voice was devoid of emotion.

Duncan asked an open question, "But why would Kell put himself out to take Kane? Or is it Ramirez in control?"

"That's what I'm trying to determine," Methos replied. "Perhaps Kane's the only one they agree on. Ramirez hated him and Kell sees him as a rival in the race to kill MacLeods." Those were apparently Methos' last words on the matter, as he moved forward several steps to better observe Kell.

Connor himself moved toward the nearby Kurgan. "Shall we dance?"

"No," came the baritone. "Not until someone beside your kinsman is victorious." Connor frowned. The Kurgan didn't trust Duncan with the other immortals occupied. Oh well, there was nothing to be done for it, other than wait.

"Appears as if you two will get two shows on one ticket." Methos hadn't turned around yet he sensed Cassandra emerge from the building and stride toward them. The unearthly white light she had emanated in the morning had intensified, perhaps due to the swirling of the white robes she wore. She said nothing, merely unsheathed her sword and waited.

"All these centuries and still the fool, Cassandra. With your abilities, you're the only one who could defy the Gathering. You could be far from here and no one would claim the Prize. Instead, the whole world is in peril because of your hate." Finally, Methos turned to her, his own sword in hand.

"Still trying to trick Duncan, I see. In a few minutes, it won't matter anymore."

They began to circle, with Cassandra moving away from the other immortals and attempting to egg Methos on, with both words and gestures.

The attention of the Kurgan and the two MacLeods, however, was drawn to the other battle. For the first time, Kell did not merely parry as Kane's sword materialized, he countered, into what appeared to be thin air. The sound of the blades clashing made it clear that Kell could see Kane, at least for a moment. Then, apparently, Kane slipped away again, and Kell began his search anew.

"He looks more focused, more like he did before fighting Ramirez," Duncan observed.

"The same thing happened with Kamir when I fought him yesterday – his eyes cleared after we started."

"I guess no matter how many personalities you have, when it comes down to it, they all want to live."

Duncan's remark was apparently the last straw for the Kurgan, who moved somewhere less chatty. The three immortals were still looking in the same direction, though, as Kell began to strike multiple blows. With every exchange, he looked smoother, more like the man who had taken far more heads than either MacLeod, even if many of his victories involved cheating.

Kell said something and Kane appeared directly in front of him. The two locked swords and began to try to push the other back, without success. It seemed they were evenly matched in strength. Not so in speed. Kell broke the sword-lock with a dizzying attack. While Kane was able to keep his opponent's blade at bay, he could not block the blows from elbows and knees Kell was able to work in. After Kell hit him square in the face with a flat palm, Kane turned and ran, vanishing into smoke after several steps. Kell did not hesitate in choosing a direction to pursue, walking serenely but decisively in the direction of the east wall of the compound.

Connor's voice was heard one more time, "Well now, isn't that interesting."

end part 26


	27. Opera ain't over

Part 27 Opera Ain't Over

WARNING: This gets the full Mature rating for gore at the end.

Cassandra's objective was simple: keep herself alive long enough for her hypnosis to work. So far Methos had cooperated by merely testing her but he was far too smart to wait when pressing the matter favored the stronger side. So Cassandra fought and ran, using even the running to swirl her robes carefully as part of the hypnotic process. Methos pursued steadily and thoughtfully, trying to discern her strategy. And she suppressed the panic that would arise at the thought he knew what she was up to.

The other battle had turned rather dramatically. From Kell's speed saving his neck only at the very last moment from Kane's hidden assaults to Kell's speed overwhelming Kane at every encounter. Kell was laso locating him, despite the illusions, more quickly each time Kane fled. The two Scots recognized the swagger Kell now exhibited: it was obviously him in control, not Ramirez, and he was as arrogant as ever. Disdain was the Kurgan's only visible reaction.

Kell seemed to be enjoying physically punishing Kane, which was hardly a surprise. It was risky to prolong the battle rather than just finish it but Kell was a bully and having a sadistic streak, too, was no great stretch. He used his fists and feet more than his sword, inflicting pain rather than serious wounds. The odd thing was that Kane also seemed to just be waiting for the end. He took his punishment when he had to and ran when he could, but made no attempt to change things up, to throw Kell off balance.

Over and over the same scene repeated until Kell was no longer enjoying himself. It wasn't as fun beating an inferior opponent when the loser still had a quickening strong enough to heal almost instantly. Kell began to use his sword to inflict more serious wounds, now showing a bit of caution in not going immediately for Kane's head. Kane's movement's were less fluid, more jerky, possibly as the result of his quickening being constantly in use to fight his injuries.

And Kell was talking. The three observers often lost sight of the two combatants but they could hear clearly what was being said,

"So you die, with Connor MacLeod laughing at your weakness. I will see him suffer and fall and you will see nothing but blackness."

As expected, this spurred Kane to at least attempt to stave off his fate. He disappeared and reappeared in faster sequences, seeming to be all around Kell. The dark Highlander was startled but adjusted quickly once more, meeting each blow with greater confidence. Eventually he spun all the around slashing at open air, to be rewarded by a cry of pain and Kane's materializing with blood gushing from a side wound.

Again, however, the wound closed up before Kane could falter from blood loss. Kell snarled in frustration and resumed the pursuit. The exchanges were sharper and more violent now, Kell was no longer interested in fun, only death. And it was clear Kane could not meet all the blows rained upon him.

Finally, Kell sliced him across the chest. The location meant it was a mortal wound and Kane fell rather slowly and theatrically to his knees. Kell looked slightly surprised but then snickered at his now helpless opponent. He swung the blade across and neatly severed the neck. There was little blood but the fires of the quickening began to gather. They raced about for a long moment before lashing into Kell, who welcomed them with open arms.

The moment he was struck, Kell's eyes went wide. He spun wildly around and found Kane alive and well and standing behind him, bleeding profusely from the chest but still conscious and holding a sword. Kane's prone, headless body then vanished, as did the bolts of the false quickening. A split-second later, a still-disbelieving Kell lost his head and a true quickening began. Kane strained to receive it all, before lapsing into a temporary death himself.

The two Scots were silent at yet another dramatic turn of events. Finally Connor mused, "It would be so easy to kill him now. I fight the Kurgan and you take Kane's head, and all that power."

"Connor!" Duncan protested.

"Did you see through that trick, Duncan? I doubt it. I didn't and I have a lot more experience with illusion than you. How much chance do you have against Kane?"

"The rules, Connor."

"The rules! You'd leave the fate of the Earth to someone like Kane because of the rules?"

"And if you or I win by cheating? What would we be like as the last one?"

"Better than Kane!" Duncan just glowered back. "Fine. I suppose you're old enough now to make your own decisions." Connor smacked him on the back, smiled, and walked away, sword balanced on his shoulder.

Duncan reeled slightly – Connor had been trying to do one more thing to help him, one more thing before facing the Kurgan. This was his way of saying goodbye. He wanted to rush to his brother's side one more time and embrace him but Connor had preempted that, typically. His brother and the Kurgan now faced each other, both silently engaging in minor exercises.

In the other direction, Kane was stumbling to his feet, clearly surprised he had not been killed while helpless. He already had enough energy to sneer, before tottering off to a far corner of the compound, absent any showy illusions. That left Duncan to seek out Cassandra and Methos, who had fairly quietly moved some distance away.

Cassandra was torn. Her head and her eyes told her that Methos was being affected by the hypnosis. Rather than simply overwhelming her, his swordplay had begun to match hers in a rhythmic, graceful display. Nor had he used his own special abilities. But her fears told her he was only toying with her, as he had done so many times; raising her hopes the better to crush them.

She was afraid to use the Voice. If Methos was being affected by the hypnosis, using the Voice too early might snap him out of it. Worse, she dreaded to find that he wasn't being affected at all, to have him pour scorn on her feeble attempts to manipulate him.

Cassandra fought to control her terror but just his face triggered it. Methos in his Death costume was the incarnation of her nightmares, as he no doubt intended. And his expression had not changed since their duel was joined. That could be a sign of the hypnosis but it was also customary for him. It was almost as if he had begun thousands of years ago the practice of being expressionless when battle was most serious, anticipating that she would desperately need to know his state of mind.

Now he was remorseless in pursuing her. Never showing a sign of fatigue or concern, when it was all she could do to attempt to maintain the hypnotic effect and fight off the panic that told her she had no choice but to use her weapon of last resort. She couldn't keep this up much longer; it was too tiring trying to maintain the hypnotic effect while fighting in the heavy clothing she had to wear. She would try the Voice and if it failed . . .

"I'm no threat to you, Methos. We are companions of long ago. Let us sit and talk together of the birth of civilizations and all we have seen over the centuries. Are you not tired of carrying the burden of being the oldest man alive? Share it with me, I understand better than anyone. Sit, Methos, sit and be at ease."

For an instant, Methos face changed. He halted his pursuit of her and his sword arm dropped. But then he raised his sword again and his face contorted. Hollow laughter emerged and he resumed his advance, feigning sitting with almost every step while jeering at her.

Cassandra could no longer control herself. He was mocking her, again. That terrible visage was marching toward her once more and she was once more helpless to stop him. She would not be further hurt by him; death was preferable. And he had to die, no matter the price. She reached inside her robes, fumbled for a moment, then pulled.

There were very few things that could have won Methos' attention at that moment but this was one of them. In bringing yet more violence to this violent land, he had worried about falling victim to bombings in public areas, which would expose the nature of immortals for all the world to see. The Watchers had worried, further, that local factions would be provided with the identities of certain immortals along with whatever information was needed to make them targets.

Hence Methos had spent the last weeks watching every face, every hand for a hint of exactly what Cassandra had just done. That wouldn't be enough, of course, to save a mortal. It wouldn't be enough to save almost any immortal. But Methos had worked for many centuries to refine his control over body mass and for some decades to combine that control with quick movements. His reflexes had been on a hair trigger since arriving in Jerusalem and they did not fail him now.

He simultaneously lowered his mass as far and as fast as he could and jumped away from Cassandra. In retrospect, it would have been better to try for height rather than distance, but that was not instinctive reaction. From walking forward, he jumped at almost a 90 degree angle and ended more than 10 meters away. It was an impossible feat, and it was almost enough.

Cassandra hadn't just brought a simple bomb under her clothing into the compound. She hadn't just brought an unusually large bomb, the weight of which she managed to hide using the strength of her ancient quickening and her considerable athletic ability. She had also packed the bomb with long, sharpened steel nails, rods really. Most likely the materials had all been stored separately on her person and in her bags and the compound guards induced by the Voice or some other ability of Cassandra's not to recognize the elements of a deadly explosive.

However it was done, there was enough dynamite to immediately and nauseatingly shred Cassandra beyond any hope of immortal recovery. Gruesome pieces of her were fired in all directions.

She had waited until Methos was close enough that the explosion itself might have done the same to him, but Methos' leap had saved him from that fate. The explosion then actually helped, if at the prices of a fatal concussion and an equally fatal landing, by pushing him farther away from the nails being shot out like huge bullets. One of them at the right angle would have decapitated him. Three of them might have done the job regardless of the angle.

If he had remained at close range, three or more would have unavoidable slammed into his neck area. Getting farther away had improved his odds greatly as the vast majority of the nails flew into empty air. Unfortunately, the vast majority still left quite a few. In addition to the concussion and the landing, Methos was going to die from being impaled at a number of points in his legs and torso. His formerly expressionless face registered shock at the extent of the injuries while he tried to prepare to receive Cassandra's quickening.

This blasted into him far faster than a typical quickening, perhaps because Cassandra's body had been so quickly and completely torn apart. As to be expected from her age and power, it was incredibly violent. So much so that Duncan, and certainly not Methos, had still not noticed the most crucial of his injuries. As the overwhelming pain and pleasure of the quickening died away, to be replaced only by pain and the all too familiar feeling of impending death, Methos caught sight of his sword reflecting in the moonlight.

While it was hardly surprising that his sword had been thrown clear, what was surprising was that something was still attached to it. As the life faded from Methos' eyes, they returned to his side. Duncan's eyes followed, mesmerized though they both knew what they would see: a nail, or perhaps two, had neatly removed Methos' arm below the elbow.

end part 27


	28. Balance, vision, and poise

Part 28 Balance, Vision, and Poise

A horrified Duncan sought Connor for support, but his brother and the Kurgan had merely paused for a few moments to consider the scene before them, then returned to circling. They had eyes only for each other.

So Duncan went alone to Methos' side. Within just a few moments, Methos was alive again, testimony to the strength of the Methos+Cassandra quickening. There was immediate progress in healing his worst wounds, with Methos using his one arm to start pull out the dozen or so metal spikes that had impaled him in various places. That wouldn't do him any good, of course. Even Methos could not defeat the Kurgan or Kane physically unbalanced, with a new disability, and with his weaker sword arm.

Duncan resolved to fight his battles for him. As usual, Methos took no note of Duncan's silent vow of fealty, instead demanding that he help pull spikes, "In case you haven't noticed, I've suffered a 50 loss in efficiency for this task!" Duncan wasn't surprised at the sarcasm but he was looking for signs that Methos understood his predicament.

Each spike removed was accompanied by blood spurting everywhere, covering them both. Unfortunately for Methos not even his quickening could heal all the wounds in time, and just a few moments later, there was an "oh, crap" and Methos died again. Duncan pulled the last two spikes and waited.

When Methos revived again, he was practically shouting "What are you doing here, go get my arm!"

"Methos, you need to . . ."

More quietly now, "Go get it or Kane will come over here and slaughter us both." So Duncan trotted over and back, wondering how he was going to get through to a traumatized 5000 year-old. "Give me that!"

"Methos, this has gone far enough!"

"Give it to me, you nitwit, or we're both dead."

"What are you going to do, sew it back on?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, if you'd stop talking for once in your entirely wasted life!"

Duncan finally handed over the battered, lifeless appendage. "I couldn't have done this before, but now, with her quickening, too . . ." Methos jammed it against his severed elbow, visibly gathered himself, then yelled. Bolts of his quickening reached from the attached to the detached flesh and, before Duncan's wide eyes, they began to fuse. Just as he was about to express his awe, Methos' eyes went back in his head and he fell flat on his back. He raised himself back up slightly, still pressing his arm back together but barely holding on to consciousness.

"Pass out . . . going to pass out. Don't fight Kane. Don't! Your word!"

Duncan was puzzled, again. Methos just stared until Duncan nodded, then the air seemed to go out of the older man's body and he collapsed into the dirt. His arms went limp and Duncan could see the right arm was now whole. The color below the elbow was still awful, though, and there was an ugly line where the reattachment had taken place.

Duncan's distraction almost cost him his head, as Kane materialized next to him, this time with no showy warning lights. After Duncan was able to parry, Kane shrugged slightly and stepped back, "Much as I'd love to take his head while he's down, I suppose you'll insist on protecting him." He then vanished tracelessly, leaving Duncan jumping from spot to spot in a near-panic, trying to not to leave a fixed target.

It didn't work. Kane slashed him deeply across his back and Duncan's knees buckled. He turned it into a roll, avoiding the finishing blow across the neck. The wound healed faster than Duncan would have believed and he uttered a silent thank you to Haresh Clay. But he still couldn't see Kane.

He could hear him, though. Laughing. It was at this point that Duncan remembered his promise to Methos. There was no point telling Kane he wasn't going to fight, but he could use his enhanced athletic ability to run. Duncan began a series of vaults, rolls, dashes, and leaps that Kane would not be able to match. I have to guess where he is but now he has to guess where I'm going, Duncan thought.

Kane's laughter turned to insults concerning Duncan's manhood. Then to not-quite-as-clever demands to "Fight, coward!" Duncan was enjoying both Kane's irritation and the feeling of power from his quickening-enhanced agility. Kane then began trying to disorient him with illusions about his surroundings, making the walls, their dormitory, and other landmarks seem closer, then farther away. This time it was Duncan's turn to laugh; he knew the compound well enough, already. And it was not like he was going anywhere in particular, just dodging. Soon enough, Kane's cursing began anew.

Duncan was not out of the woods yet. He stopped hearing Kane's voice or the sound of his movements. It might be another illusion – with Kell's quickening, who knows what Kane could do now – but Duncan risked stopping and looking around. He saw Kane holding his sword where the hilt meets the blade, then hurling it like a knife thrower. Then another Kane appeared and did the same. Then another, then another. Soon the yard was filled with Kanes and flying swords and Duncan's diving and rolling became far more urgent.

He was starting to wonder how he was going to get through this one when a familiar voice was heard, "That's enough." There was again a cessation of movement and Duncan risked another glance, to see Methos, arms folded over his chest. Kane materialized uncomfortably close to Duncan and reacted contemptuously, "You can't interfere."

"No, the boy would never permit it. So I'll wait until just after his quickening hits, then stroll over and take your head."

"You'd never break the Rules like that, Ancient One."

"I've killed 10,000 helpless mortals with this face, you think I care about the Rules?"

Duncan's words caught in his throat. Was Methos serious? "I can handle myself, old man."

Methos dismissed him without even a glance, "No, you can't. So, Kane, what's it going to be? If you kill the boy, you will get to torture Connor MacLeod with his death. Of course, I'm not sure how much he would suffer seeing as I'll take your head five seconds later."

"And after I kill you, he'll take my head just the same." Kane was wavering.

"Oh come now, Kane, this is Connor's little brother! He'd probably bring you something to drink before the fight, just to make sure everything was fair."

Kane looked hard at Duncan for a few moments, as if he could confirm Methos' words with his eyes. Apparently, he did so because he nodded to Methos, "Very well, then."

"Five minutes." Kane's response to that was a chuckle and his usual disappearing act. Duncan's response was a walk and a whisper but it was delivered in the tone of a yell,

"What do you think you're doing? I know you worked half a miracle to fix your arm but it's still five different colors! Can you even swing your sword with it?"

"Certainly." At Duncan's stare, Methos muttered to himself and attempted to demonstrate. Unfortunately, the sword practically flew from his hand and the grimace on his face made it clear that it was painful trying to make his lower arm to perform the most simple task. "Fine, so I'll use my other hand!"

"You can't beat Kane with your weak hand. And don't start with that, 'I am Methos, I have powers you can't understand' nonsense. You can't beat him and you know it."

To this, Methos just smiled, "Look around, MacLeod, what do you see?" Duncan snorted but Methos insisted, "Go on, look."

Connor and the Kurgan were striking real blows now but the pace was still slow – they were still testing each other more than anything. There was no sign of Kane.

"Can't see him, can you? I can." Methos smirked, "I saw through the illusion that killed Kell, I saw through all the fake Kanes to the real one just now, and I see that he is now too far away to hear us." Methos stepped directly in front of Duncan, "You have no chance to beat him. None. Those weren't even his best tricks and they all fooled you. You can only run until he figures out the move that gets you. A nice image of your brother and the Kurgan, perhaps? Hmm?"

Duncan was genuinely alarmed; that might very well work, "Methos, shut up!"

"What, you think he won't figure it out? He's got all night, MacLeod, you'll never even get close to him and you wouldn't know it if you were. You fight him, you die, simple as that."

"With that arm, you'd fare no better."

"You're wrong. I don't need to be a great Scottish swordsman. My other abilities are enough to kill him, yours aren't because he can blind you. Besides . . ." Methos hesitated for the first time.

"Yes, old man?"

He audibly exhaled, "I need another quickening to finish healing my arm. My balance is back but I have no strength in my hand. I have no chance to beat the Kurgan like this, or even your brother if he wins and the Kurgan's quickening is Dark."

Duncan took in Methos' words, then bridled, "So what am I supposed to do, admire your outfit?"

Methos sighed, "No, I'm sure if the Kurgan wins, you will insist on challenging him to avenge your brother. You'll probably lose but at least you have a chance in that fight."

MacLeod eyed him, "I gave you my word I wouldn't fight Kane. Now I want yours that I get the Kurgan if he kills Connor."

Methos nodded, "You have it."

"No tricks!"

"No tricks."

"You gave in too easily, Methos."

"This is the way it has to be. I had to stay away from the Kurgan for as long as possible because none of you would have had a chance against him if he took my head. So I was always willing to have you fight him. It's a tough one for you but better than some other challenges."

Methos began to stare into the distance, "It would have been much better if Kane or Kell had gotten to Connor. He's experienced with them and we might have been able to push the Kurgan to challenge the other. But of course your brother refused to cooperate. So did Cassandra, though that was hardly unexpected. I had hoped for some opportunity to make it the four of us at the end and no Prize for anyone but her hate gave us no chance."

"I can't believe what she did, what she was willing to do."

"She panicked. I suspected she might. If she hadn't, she had me beaten."

"What?" Duncan was beyond surprised, more like shocked.

"She was trying to hypnotize me with her movements. I figured that out fairly quickly and thought I was immune. But as we went on, it was like I was very gradually falling asleep. Everything slowed down – my brain, my body. I couldn't think straight." Methos shook his head in wonder, "Then she hit me with the Voice, my brain woke up and started screaming to get away, and my body stopped listening to me and started listening to her. It took all of my strength not to obey her first command. If she had kept trying, I would have plopped myself right down on the ground and held my neck out for her sword. I had to use my quickening just to be able to sneer at her, to try to get her to think it wasn't working so she'd do something else. Anything else. Even this." He indicated his damaged arm.

MacLeod said nothing, instead contemplating the abilities of the ancient immortals and how he could possibly win his next duel, whenever it would come.

"Well, mustn't keep the magic man waiting." Methos smile was more like a snarl. "Go watch your brother, this one is going to take a while."

End part 28


	29. Rematch

Part 29 Rematch

Warning for UGLINESS AT THE END. Also: apologies for the delay. This is very difficult fight to write, since we've already seen it at length on the big screen. I've already written part of the next chapter so it should come more quickly.

As Duncan approached his brother and the Kurgan, he grew more puzzled. The two had been dancing around each other for quite some time now and still were. Neither of them was exactly subtle – why the delay?

They noticed him and both lowered their swords, "About time," came the Kurgan's baritone.

Duncan turned expectantly to Connor, who smiled, "It seems my old comrade here doesn't trust you. When you refused to fight Kane, he thought we were looking for a two-on-one. I told him that MacLeods fight their own battles, but he still wants a pledge that you won't take his head while he's down with my quickening. Distrusting and forgetful; he doesn't remember what happened last time we met."

The Kurgan merely growled. He pointed to Connor but faced Duncan, "I kept my word to him and Grayson kept his word to you. Can you fulfill your vow after I kill your brother?"

"I have never killed an immortal down with a quickening and I never will." Duncan grinned and turned to the older Highlander, "So, Connor, don't worry about me taking your head after you win." They both chuckled while the Kurgan was expressionless.

Connor tilted his sword at the Kurgan, then raised it above his head, "So, you hairy oaf, are you going to stop running now? No more excuses, no more mortals to kidnap, no more hiding behind giant neon signs?"

The giant roared and charged faster than Duncan would have thought possible for someone his size. He looked in his ancient armor like nothing so much as a very large bird of prey. He brought his sword down toward Connor's skull with such violence Duncan was worried even his brother's marvelously crafted blade would give way. It did not, but the riposte was parried so quickly and forcefully that the Highlander fell back slightly.

Duncan had asked Connor about his first fight with the Kurgan, asked about it again, and asked about it again. He felt as if he had a pretty good picture of what had happened. If that picture was accurate, one thing had clearly changed: both his brother and the Kurgan were moving much more quickly. Connor's version of the first round was a slugfest, with the smaller Scot struggling against greater size and strength. This looked more like one of his own workouts with Connor: rapid movements back and forth, with minor wounds inflicted and ignored. The speed at which the surviving immortals healed now made it almost impossible to wear someone down; the battle would have to be won decisively.

As they swept up and down the compound, Duncan thought the two evenly matched in skill. He knew very well, though, that the Kurgan had more depth of experience. He could introduce a technique Connor hadn't seen before. They were both natural born warriors to an extent even Duncan envied. Connor had not yet had the opportunity to reveal his newly reduced vulnerability but neither had the Kurgan shown the strength they had seen against Joshua. It was going to be tough for his brother.

The thought snapped Duncan back to what he should have been doing: watching the Kurgan for weakness, either to help his brother or to help himself. It was possible that both Connor and Methos would win, he could keep them from each other's throats, and they could figure some way to neutralize the pull of the Gathering. No Prize for anyone, no threat to humanity.

But more likely either the Kurgan or Kane would survive. If both of them won, the fate of the world would rest on Duncan defeating the Kurgan and gaining enough power thereby to see through Kane's tricks. Even if just the Kurgan won, Methos might not be finished with Kane or his arm might not be fully healed. One Highlander or the other had to defeat the Kurgan. They had to.

Unfortunately, Duncan couldn't yet see how it was going to be done. The Kurgan was clearly very angry, most likely the accumulation of frustration over his vow to Connor not to hurt mortals. He may not be the most polished of swordsmen but he still wasn't making any mistakes Duncan could see. And Duncan knew that the blows his brother was parrying were heavy enough to send shocks up one's arm to the shoulder. Connor was much stronger than when he first fought the Kurgan but how long could he hold out?

Hand to hand combat was out of the question, of course. Connor didn't have Duncan's skills and Duncan himself would be using his martial arts and his enhanced agility to run, not fight. Closing with the Kurgan at this point had been shown to be suicidal.

It was also worrying that Connor wasn't talking. Taunting an already angry opponent increased the probability they would make a mistake, but his brother was silent. Either he was too absorbed in the battle himself or he was already too winded.

Even so, he was holding his own and the Kurgan had demonstrated in his duel with Joshua that patience was not one of his two or three virtues. Rumbles of frustration began to be heard from the giant's chest – he wanted satisfaction and he wanted it now. Duncan thought he saw the tiniest of smirks on Connor's face.

But he still didn't see any sort of strategy; Connor didn't appear to be trying to do anything in particular. It was now a fast-paced, impressive battle to be sure but still not what Duncan expected this late in the Gathering, and one which seemed to have no flow to it. First to trip over a rock, loses?

Duncan tried to find Kane but saw only Methos, walking, talking, and occasionally defending himself. When his eyes returned to the duel in front of him, the Kurgan had picked up the pace a bit. He was finally using his strength, alternating between his sword and his limbs in delivering blows. The feet, hands, elbows, and knees seemed to be doing a better job connecting and the Kurgan began to use his blade only for defense.

It was slow going but Connor was being made to give ground, his balance becoming more precarious, his counters less effective. Eventually, the Kurgan landed perhaps the first telling blow of the fight with a knee to the gut. As Connor straightened and prepared for the Kurgan's sword, he instead caught the hilt in his face. The impact was unnaturally loud and Duncan feared a broken cheekbone or, worse, some loss of his brother's vision. The Kurgan of course sensed the opportunity and swung his sword around toward Connor's chest.

A moment later, not only had the Kurgan's blow been parried but Connor's sword had scored the giant's ribs. To Duncan's surprise, his brother's face didn't have a mark on it – the invulnerability had manifested, as Connor had obviously been counting on. He had been waiting for the Kurgan to believe he had struck a telling blow in order to catch the older immortal off guard. For the first time, Duncan thought his brother had the advantage.

The Kurgan stared at the wound for a moment, clearly surprised. It was nearly a foot long and bleeding profusely. Then he turned to Connor. And sneered. The lightning of the quickening flashed all along the wound, sewing it up in seconds rather than the minutes Duncan would have expected just a few days ago.

Now it was Connor's turn to be surprised: it was even harder to gain an advantage than he had thought. Centuries of tactics had to be altered, nothing less than a mortal wound seemed to matter at this point. Duncan groaned; the more experienced immortals would benefit from this. After all, they had begun their lives using crude stone and bronze weapons that made a single killing blow almost impossible.

A very drawn-out death for his brother thus seemed likely. Which meant that the Kurgan needed a nudge to be unnecessarily aggressive, to risk making a mistake when caution would guarantee victory. Since Connor didn't seem to be interested in baiting his opponent, Duncan would have to.

"Umm, guys, sorry but I just realized something. I can't see Kane. If he kills Methos before one of you wins, I won't be able to stop him from taking your heads when you're down. You know, if he wants to."

The two warriors seemed to be paying him no attention.

"And then there's Methos. If he wins, he likely won't come for you, Connor, at least not right away. But, Kurgan, he's probably got three knives hidden with your name on them. And it's not as if I could stop the great Methos if he really wanted to cheat."

Now Duncan had the Kurgan's direct attention, "So your vow is empty after all."

Duncan smiled, "My vow is not to take your head during the quickening. I didn't say anything about fighting Methos or Kane to protect you."

The Kurgan's face twisted, then he lunged for Connor. The Highlander was ready – he knew exactly what Duncan had been doing. The Kurgan's attack was now the most furious that Duncan had seen to this point. But Connor met the more dangerous blows and shrugged off the lesser ones. It seemed something like a stalemate was still brewing.

The Kurgan had other ideas. He waited long minutes until the footing and distance between them was right, then performed a classic maneuver. He took a long stride toward Connor, locked their blades, and grabbed Connor's sword arm with his free hand, hoping to use leverage and his remarkable strength to force Connor to drop the blade.

The ploy came as no surprise to the Highlander. He slugged the Kurgan a few times and, when that had no discernable effect, dropped the sword from his right hand and twisted enough against the Kurgan's hold to grab it with his left. He swung immediately for the kill. He had a bad angle and no way to plant his feet, so the strike seemed to move in slow motion. Even so, a very sharp blade headed toward the Kurgan's neck.

And was stopped by a large hairy palm. It was hard to tell which Scot was more surprised, the one fighting or the one watching. Even weakly swung, the blade should have at least cut deeply into the Kurgan's massive hand, severing tendons. It should have cut the hand near in two. But while blood was flowing, lightning ran across the wound at the same time, healing it even as Connor tried to push the sword through.

It still looked for a moment like a win for Connor. As powerful as the Kurgan's quickening was, eventually the sword would prevail, especially with Connor now over his shock and setting his feet.

Then the Kurgan dropped his own weapon and grabbed Connor's blade with his other hand. This time, there was comparatively little blood before he wrested the sword away from the wide-eyed Scot. One of his hands was now ruined, but he held one sword in the other hand and stood over the second sword.

Duncan resisted the immediate urge to tell his brother to run. If he did, the Kurgan would have time to reclaim his own sword and heal his hand. And Connor would gain nothing but a few more minutes of life.

The Highlander, the original Highlander was not the keenest axe in the armory, as Methos was fond of repeating. But he was a warrior born. He knew instantly that his only chance was to close and attempt a version of what the Kurgan had just done. The Kurgan was much stronger, of course, but he had only one hand to work with at the moment and Connor still had his reduced vulnerability.

They grappled for Connor's katana. With two hands against one, Connor had the advantage. The Kurgan couldn't yet use his ruined hand but he could use that elbow to smash Connor with. The blows looked devastating but Connor's quickening and desperation shielded him. He turned the sword at an angle where he would have more leverage, cutting severely into one of his own hands while doing so. Finally he wrenched the sword free of the Kurgan's grip. He turned back to the giant to prevent him from picking up his own blade and, perhaps, even win this battle.

The Kurgan kicked him in the stomach.

Even at a distance, Duncan could tell the blow was unnatural. Both men's quickenings had been weakened by use by the Kurgan was stronger both in the number of immortals he had killed and in simple physical ability. His sunk farther into Connor's abdomen than should have been possible. Blood and bile burst from the Highlander's mouth in a sudden, repulsive rush. Rather than sprawling back, he fell forward. Duncan sought his eyes but they were unfocused. He was obviously alive but there was no sign of breath.

The Kurgan watched Connor carefully as he retrieved his own sword. Then he eyed Duncan to see if a rescue was imminent. Duncan couldn't move. He wanted to but he was frozen in place, by honor, by horror, perhaps by the Gathering itself. The Kurgan nodded in satisfaction and lifted his sword. Duncan was barely able to say, "I love you, Connor" before the final blow was struck.

end part 29


	30. Pondering the end

Part 30 Pondering the end

The last interaction Duncan had with his brother was to run away. Connor's quickening was the most destructive yet. It blasted the entire compound, whose thick walls were obviously built with such a punishment in mind. While the Kurgan screamed, a now visible Kane and Methos dove for cover as well.

It seemed to go on forever. Connor plus Grayson plus Kamir plus Fasil plus all the other foes defeated by a warrior born. When the destruction finally began to abate, the Kurgan toppled forth headfirst onto the ground. Methos of course had the presence of mind to stroll in that direction, ensuring that Kane didn't magically appear with a sword over the Kurgan's head. Kane then moved to follow, to ensure that Methos didn't get his own sword over the Kurgan's head. This allowed Duncan to gather up his brother's body.

They had eventually found that their host had indeed thought of everything. Behind their dormitory, hidden from the main entrance to the compound was a fenced-off space with space for two dozen ready graves, whether temporary or permanent.

Joshua had buried his friend Guanyin there while others watched the ensuing challenges and before he had also died. Duncan had spent the night with Connor, unaware that Methos had buried Richie, as well as Joshua, Ramirez, and Kronos. No doubt he would shortly bury Cassandra. Connor and Duncan had buried their own opponents the next day, an unpleasant task and Duncan would do the same with Clay if he had the chance. Kalas' body was off to a side and had been left to the maggots. Kell's most likely would be, as well.

Connor would certainly not suffer that fate. If Duncan did not survive to return him to the highlands, he would at least be treated with respect. Duncan put his brother next to Richie and said the clan prayer his father taught him after his first battle. He wanted desperately to stay with Connor, to commune, but his primary duty lay with making sure Kurgan or Kane didn't win the Prize. He hurried back, pledging to Connor's soul that he would return if at all able.

He found Methos and the Kurgan standing almost side by side while Kane was some distance away and clearly angry. When Duncan was close enough, Kane began to stride toward him, only to have Methos melodramatically clear his throat and run his fingers along the edge of his sword while the Kurgan laughed.

Kane stopped but his entire body was contorted with fury. Duncan realized he wasn't the only one emotionally devastated by Connor's death – Kane had lost the vengeance he had dreamed of for centuries. And he had just absorbed Kell, who was equally obsessed with Connor. He was surprised Kane didn't come for him regardless of Methos' threat. The look on his face indicated he was contemplating doing just that.

Something then apparently occurred to the magician because he turned back to the other two, "Who fights who?" came Kane's rough voice.

"You and I are already in progress. And we can't break the rules, can we?" Methos smirked. "Plus I'm sure MacLeod will want to avenge his brother. Seems pretty simple." Methos knew very well it was hardly simple. Kane wanted desperately to kill Duncan as his last chance at revenge for being imprisoned by Connor for all those years. If he had any of his wits about him at all, though, he also knew that he would then have no chance against the Kurgan-Methos winner.

"We'll let you sleep on it. I'm sure you'll have great fun with Kell's memories for the next few hours."

At this, Kane's eyes focused, "No. Now."

"Impossible." It was again Methos who answered. "The Highlander's quickening was visible for miles. Our only chance at escaping detection is for this area to go dark and for the locals to respect the influence of our former host."

Unsurprisingly, Kane was not satisfied. With Connor Macleod dead by someone else's hand, he might never be satisfied. "You act if there is an army on our doorstep. We can easily finish the challenges and take the Prize. No one will be able to threaten the winner."

Methos was scornful, "You have no idea what the Prize is. Perhaps it's knowledge of where we came from. Great help against rocket launchers. And there is an army on our doorstep – we call them Watchers." He gestured to the bluff nearest the compound and perfect immortal vision could just make out person-sized shapes moving about.

"The Watchers couldn't catch a dog."

Methos continued unperturbed, "The role of that group is to decide whether to call for a full-scale assault. The Watchers have been preparing for this since we were all first drawn to Jerusalem. I know, I infiltrated their organization centuries ago. Are you prepared? Or would it be better to have the next 12 hours to consider how to ensure that one of us actually lives to claim the Prize?"

Kane's rebuttal was on his lips when an impossibly deep voice interrupted, "MacLeod deserves time to mourn his brother and a chance to avenge him. I will fight him tomorrow night." The Kurgan then trudged off, shoulders slumped, raising eyebrows among the other three.

Kane looked as if he were about to say something more, but thought better of it. Instead, he turned to MacLeod and smiled slowly, "Sleep deeply." He abruptly vanished, no transition, no showy lights.

Duncan hesitated for a moment then informed Methos he was going back to Connor. He dashed off without waiting for a response. When he got back to the grave, he could contain himself no more and wept, "It's not right that you're there and I'm here. You saved my life so many times, taught me so much . . ."

And Duncan found himself caught up in memories of his brother, from the time the mythical Connor MacLeod first found him, to Connor's training, to their first times together as equals, through lifetimes of pain and loss. No matter what happened, he would never have another Connor, just mortals coming and going; how could he live like that?

An answer came as if transported from elsewhere: kill the Kurgan. Then Connor's memories, even perhaps his thoughts, would live on with Duncan. "I don't know how I'm going to do it, Connor, but my word as a MacLeod that I will avenge your death and preserve your memory." With that, Duncan turned his thoughts to the task of winning tomorrow night, only to feel a hand on his shoulder.

He rolled away instinctively, fearing Kane, then realized the magician would hardly tap him first. He came fluidly up from the roll, sword in hand, to see Methos now standing at Connor's grave looking apologetic, of all things. "I didn't mean to startle you but it's been several hours. You need to eat and sleep."

"Several hours?" Methos nodded. "And you've been here the whole time?" Another nod, "I kept a distance at first but you were so far lost I was afraid you wouldn't even notice Kane had killed you."

Duncan exhaled slowly, "Thank you."

Yet another Methos nod, "Quite a roll there, your agility has clearly improved."

Indeed, Duncan had gotten a full five meters clear with barely an effort. "What now?"

"Now we go inside and prepare for our battle."

They walked together and, though no words were said, went directly to Connor's room. In his exuberance, Connor had not locked up his food and the two divvied it up before Duncan realized Kane could have poisoned it. His eyes widened and, upon catching the look, Methos shrugged, "Too late now."

They both waited until the pause became absurd -- no one was going to keel over. So they resumed.

Duncan was lost in thoughts of Connor when Methos began to muse aloud. "I never believed in the Gathering, but I planned for it almost every day. Don't want to think about the past so look to the future." He glanced at Duncan but the Scot clearly wanted to hear more, not talk himself. "Until I heard Connor beat the Kurgan and you beat Grayson, even on blind luck, I never considered either of you would be here. Then you both let them go. Thought you might have the skill but not the drive."

"Who did you think would be here?"

"The Kurgan, naturally. Grayson, until he lost to you. I knew Cassandra would come for me as soon as she could but thought Kronos would wait, hoping we two could ride again. She forced his hand but he should have known I'd find a way to defeat her. I thought Kane was dead or would have factored him in. He was immensely powerful when Connor stopped him. That's when I took notice of your brother, which led me to you.

I never took Clay seriously; I knew he'd collapse once his squire lost. Ramirez fell apart after he met the Highlander . . . your brother. I didn't realize it until later, of course. When we had that little confrontation with Kell, I added him to the list. If I had known Kane was alive, I might very well have guessed three of four. But I figured on Kronos and Kell, not you."

Methos looked directly at Duncan, "I've said that you're the perfect immortal. Athletic, as good with a sword as without. But the Gathering came too soon. You're not a hunter like the Kurgan, you didn't kill a magician like Kane did, you're not 5000 years old. You should be dead."

Duncan's face darkened, "Methos . . ."

The other man put up a hand, "You should already be dead. You should have lost your head to Grayson, among others. If you've made it this far, you can beat the Kurgan, too. It won't be easy, you're outmatched, but you've flaunted the odds. You can do it, you can gain your brother's quickening."

Methos held Duncan's gaze for a moment, then rose. "I need to bury her before I sleep. Not that her ghost won't be with me all night, anyway."

"How is it, old man?"

"Bad. Worse than Kronos. Her hatred is pouring over me even now."

Duncan was understandable perturbed – Methos couldn't afford to be stricken by guilt tomorrow night. "I'll come with you, bury Clay. We're safer from Kane together." As they walked, Duncan wondered, "Could he sneak up on the Kurgan?"

"No, the Kurgan can see him at least as clearly as I can. He's much younger than me but has taken more powerful heads. I'm not sure my quickening is any stronger than his."

"Who's better with a sword?"

"Hmmph. Close to even, I still have styles I bet he hasn't seen. On the other hand, he could probably pull my head right off my shoulders at this point."

"That trick you do with your weight, wouldn't that even the odds?"

"Maybe. It's hard to think about challenges now when everyone heals so quickly from what used to be fatal wounds."

Duncan's spirit quailed -- that may have been what had killed Connor. The gathered up Cassandra first, then Clay, then brought them to the gravesite. Duncan said a short prayer then stepped away and let Methos speak to Cassandra in a language he couldn't recognize, much less understand. Duncan wanted to ask about Methos' feelings but was afraid to trigger an emotional downturn. Who would have thought he would be taking care of the old man, even a little bit?

Instead, when Methos left Cassandra's grave, he asked the obvious question, "How can I beat him?"

"Live, Highlander." There was an actual smile.

"I doubt you have quite the agility Kronos had but you have your martial arts to compensate. Your quickening is much weaker than the Kurgan's, your skills with a blade not as complete, but as well as any immortal ever, you can keep away from him. Kronos should have done that with me. Hit and run, wait for a stroke of luck. But he was too convinced of his superiority.

If you can stay alive long enough, you'll get the chance." Methos stopped, to make sure he had Duncan's attention, "But nothing short of a certain kill will stop him. Joshua basically killed him and lost. And the Kurgan is stronger now. When you see that chance, it's all or nothing."

Duncan nodded, "And you?"

"Even with this arm, I can match Kane's sword. And my quickening is stronger. He's going to have a new trick from Kell. All I have to do is survive it. Unfortunately, I have no idea what it is."

end part 30


	31. The best revenge

Part 31 The best revenge

Kane would never have believed that hating Connor MacLeod would be so unsettling. As feared, Kell had been insane. Part of this was Ramirez' quickening, which introduced a love of the Highlander which warred with the hate. But the other part was that Kell himself was insane, at least by Kane's standards. Oh, his memories were not especially difficult to absorb. Killing and torture were second nature to Kane. And Kell was young.

But rather than wanting MacLeod dead for the killing of the man Kell considered his father, he had wanted to torture him. And not for a few hours or a few days but endlessly, until the Prize itself was at stake. Kane had at least as much reason to hate the Highlander and for that he wanted him dead. The sadism Kell exhibited wasn't completely foreign to Kane but his own infliction of suffering was for a purpose. Kell's was an end itself. Kane wanted power, MacLeod got in the way and had to be punished. Kell wanted power so that he could punish MacLeod. It partly made perfect sense and it partly made no sense at all, and the combination was extremely troubling.

The Kurgan was not himself. At least he was not himself part of the time. Joshua had been bad enough, obsessing over his vanished super-immortal and holding fast to a code of ethics which had been ridiculous upon its introduction 2500 years ago. Now Connor MacLeod had added his own, not too dissimilar beliefs. Joshua's quickening was weak but he was even older than the Kurgan. The Highlander's life was comparatively short but he had killed some powerful foes. The Kurgan found himself wondering over the right thing to do, then the honorable thing to do. Then he would grow furious at the alien thoughts. The result was his small room was even more of a mess than it had been – dents in the walls, the bed broken into pieces, the food cabinet completely destroyed.

The Kurgan wasn't worried about tomorrow's battle. When swords were drawn, his lust for combat would overwhelm all distractions and the Highlander's quickening was hardly strong enough to interfere with the killing of his kinsman. No, the worry was after the battle. Then yet another set of noble instincts from the boy would fill his mind. The last duel would have to be fought immediately, before his confusion could get any worse.

The night was even less restful for Methos. The memories of his first encounter with Cassandra, and his ensuing enslavement of her, were tolerable. He had faced it many times before, of course, and her version was not so different from his. What was nauseating was the experience of her unending hatred of him. As much as she hated the Horsemen as a group for what they did, she hated Kronos more. And as much as she hated Kronos, more than any being in her 3000-year life save one, Cassandra hated Methos that much more.

It wasn't ceaseless; there were long periods in her memories when she thought of him not at all. But there was never any improvement: whenever she was reminded of him by a person or action, the hatred returned in full, undimmed in the slightest by all the centuries. The last few decades, after she had found him alive at MacLeod's, it had consumed her almost every moment, waking or not. That kind of hatred was difficult enough for an immortal to absorb, but when the hatred was directed at the one who received the quickening, it was mind-altering. True, Methos had 5000 years of space inside him but Cassandra's lifespan was long even by his standards.

Despite knowing the visions were all false, Methos cried out with despair, self-revulsion, and the desire to escape. Still asleep, he battered himself against the bed, the wall, the floor, inflicting a tiny amount of the pain Cassandra wished on him. The speed of his healing merely allowed him to stay asleep and suffer longer.

Duncan stayed in Connor's room, as he had the previous night. He actually got more rest, not having to worry about Connor. Clay's memories were strong in his dreams but not disconcerting. There was even a bit of Richie's perspective. When nightfall came, he was more than refreshed, he was bursting with energy. He covered the distance from the bed to the door in two easy strides, confirming that his agility had been further improved by Clay's quickening. He stepped out, and a sword sliced across his chest.

Duncan found himself two steps back into his room, having unconsciously leaped away from the flashing blade. Those reflexes and his new agility saved him from a mortal wound or even perhaps losing his head.

He couldn't see or sense his attacker, which in this case was just as informative as seeing him. It had to be Kane, he could now hide his quickening, and he wanted to kill him before anyone noticed, much less interfered. Two days ago, Duncan would have fought quietly and nobly for his clan and for his honor. But Connor was dead and what had been honorable for Duncan's entire life was no longer the only right thing to do. "Methos!"

The problem at hand was that small room gave him no room to dodge, as he had outside. Kane had to kill him quickly, though, and he could not simply guard the door. Could he get to Duncan before Duncan escaped outside?

Duncan tested his new athleticism. He ran up the wall, hurled the base of the bed one way and the mattress another while somersaulting across the room. There was no taunting or cursing from Kane this time, nor additional tricks gained from Kell's quickening. Of course, he hardly needed new tricks when the old ones worked so well; Duncan had no idea where he was.

For that matter he had no idea where Methos was. The yell, the noise in the room, it was impossible it hadn't been heard by now. That is, if something hadn't happened while Duncan was sleeping.

Connor would have told him that a distraction is absolutely deadly when you are outmatched. The energy in his wild bounding around the room had fallen off a bit while he fretted and a sword cut into his leg just above the knee. He could feel it healing but could not for the moment maintain the pace needed in the small area. His ribs were next, and the end was near.

Since he couldn't see Kane, Duncan hadn't bothered looking around. He certainly wasn't going to stop running because the odds were low, or to identify the source of new, strange noises. So the noises continued and so did he, until coming face to face with a very ugly face. Kurgan. "I said you'd have your chance, Highlander." A huge forearm gestured behind Duncan, where Kane was only half-conscious and clearly had been hit very hard by . . . something, perhaps more than once.

Duncan relaxed, though not for long Kane began to rise very shortly thereafter. His face was contorted with rage, hate, and something else – fear? "You have to die! I can't stand it anymore!" Duncan had no idea what Kane was referring to but he clearly was fighting an internal battle, as had his last victim. Fighting, and apparently losing.

Kane still had enough presence of mind to utilize his special abilities. He charged, vanished, then reappeared directly in front, his sword swinging for Duncan's neck. It again took quickening-enhanced reflexes to save Duncan, and then only barely. The Kurgan immediately knocked Kane across the room, this time moving to stand directly over the magician. "Go," the giant indicated the door, "Only that will make him cease."

Duncan went, racing out of the dormitory into the relative safety of the much wider spaces of the compound. No one followed, which again raised the question of what had happened to Methos. After a minute or two, another figure emerged but it was the Kurgan. "Insane. We must wait until he appears." Duncan wasn't sure what the Kurgan meant and he was even less sure why he was acting this way but the giant had turned his back and was apparently not going to say anything more.

They waited for some time. Duncan began to fidget; the Kurgan was immobile. Methos finally tottered into view. Duncan practically yelled, "Where the hell were you?" but, upon reaching him, the answer was obvious. Even though it had only been one day, Methos looked as if he hadn't slept for a week. Every step he took seemed to present a challenge.

"It's not all bad, MacLeod, I learned a great deal from her. A great deal, indeed. About all of us. Especially me, vile scum that I am." There was no humor in the last statement. And the words were slurred, as if Methos was drunk.

Duncan's eyes went wide and he hustled Methos to a safe distance from the Kurgan, "Good G-d, you're in no condition to fight."

"Nonsense. It was never going to be about jumping and punching and all the pretty things you and he," a gesture included the Kurgan but also caused Methos to stagger "will provide our audience. It will be about knowledge and power, something you still have so little of. So little of, so little of."

Duncan was torn between objecting and panicking over Methos' state, but came upon a better thought. "Then what? Kane has been affected just as Kell was. You can barely stand up as it is, what will you do with an insane quickening?"

This actually got Methos' to focus somewhat, "How bad is it?"

"He tried to get to me even though the Kurgan was standing right there." Methos looked at him expectantly. "And said something about not being able to stand it anymore."

"And how's that different from before he took Kell's head?"

"His face was twisted, crazed." At Methos' continued, skeptical stare, Duncan insisted, "You had to be there."

"Apparently."

"At least you still have your lovable disposition."

"What did you expect, MacLeod? I've just had hours of being graphically reminded that I'm a murderer and rapist deserving only of death, and preferably a very slow, very painful death like the one my brothers and I meted out to tens of thousands!"

Duncan had to distract him, "You're going to have to believe me for once that Kane's either lost it or is on the precipice."

"Mmph."

More distraction, "Now what's this you learned about us?"

"I'm not sure if it was Cassandra's power or her knowledge but I started to remember things, about my past, about immortals. I've always thought there might be something in my past about how it all started but I could never get close to remember. Now I'm starting to get images, hear words, but it's not enough! I need more! More!"

Each word out of Methos' mouth was more troubling than the last – he was not stable. Duncan needed to stall for time but that was almost impossible. The Kurgan was only shielding him from Kane so they could fight, instead. Kurgan had no interest in fighting Kane and Kane none in fighting the Kurgan. Duncan pondered a fake duel with Methos but it would never work, certainly not in Methos' current state.

He had no chance to beat Kane, which left fighting the Kurgan, hoping to win and get enough power to defeat Kane and protect Methos. Winning would be hard enough, being able to absorb the Kurgan and gaining the right kind of ability to beat Kane quickly enough to save Methos just wasn't going to work. Kane would want Methos' power for the final battle and was too crazy himself to worry about Methos being half-crazy. He'd kill the old man while Duncan faced the Kurgan. Or . . . or . . .

Duncan turned to Methos, who was mumbling incomprehensibly about his birth. He grabbed him about the shoulders, "Methos, do you trust me?"

"Of course, you're one of the noblest people I've ever met. Not especially bright, I've wondered who was keener, you or your brother, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, ha ha ha, that's funny because you're not actually related, unless . . ."

Duncan contemplated smacking him, just on principle as it would do no good. Instead, he shook him again, harder, "Then trust me now." He handed Methos his sword, "Take my head!"

end part 31


	32. Gatherer's note

Gatherer's note

Rather than a chapter 32, I appended a fair amount of material onto chapter 31. Chapter 33 is half-written as well – it's getting harder to figure out where to divide the story.


	33. They who watch

Part 32 **They who watch**

"Take my head!"

Methos looked at him, "That's not part of the plan. Not part of the plan at all."

"Methos, listen, you're not yourself right now. I know I'm just a boy by your standards but my quickening would help clear your mind. And it would help heal your arm."

"Didn't I already say you were too important to lose? I remember saying that. I have so many memories now, MacLeod, amazing memories. Things that happened when I was young, things older, wiser, legendary people told me. We should really talk about them."

Duncan was moving from near-panic to despair. Methos was babbling, which would have been very interesting after a night of drinking but was a disaster now. Even if he could get the old man to take his head, there was no guarantee it would stabilize him quickly enough to face Kane or the Kurgan.

"But this blasted arm; how did it get like this? Oh that's right, she did it. Can't blame her. I've done much worse. And she gave me far more in return, helping me remember. Not that she wanted to help. Or that I deserve it. You should live and I should die, MacLeod. No, that won't work, my life would overwhelm you. Oh, look who's here."

Their time had run out. The Kurgan was looking at Duncan expectantly, apparently both he and Methos could see Kane nearby, as well. Duncan couldn't. No matter how difficult it would be to beat the Kurgan, at least he had a chance in that battle. Methos had to fight Kane. And if he lost, Kane's augmented power might still be too much for Duncan, even with the Kurgan's quickening. Methos had to win, and he wasn't going to if Duncan couldn't think of something to help him concentrate.

He held up two fingers to the giant and moved Methos away. "Is Kane with us?," Duncan whispered.

"What? He's over there, staring!" Incredibly, Methos was about to point and Duncan had to slap his arm down.

"Methos, in two minutes he's going to try to kill you. Can you focus on that?"

"Do I seem unfocused?"

The fate of the world was at stake but Duncan could not help letting out a sigh. Methos was concerned only with his memories and his guilt, not too surprising given that he had just taken Cassandra's head. Duncan was no therapist, but there wasn't much choice.

"Methos, would Cassandra want Kane to win the Prize?"

"No, she'd want you to."

"Well I can't. I can't beat him so you have to . . . to atone for your crimes." Duncan hated talking like that to his friend, especially given their history, but nothing else had worked and this seemed to register. Methos appeared thoughtful, even nodding slightly.

"And his quickening might help further restore your memory."

At this a feral smile appeared, which Duncan would have found disturbing if he didn't need Methos to be feral. He was beginning to understand why Methos had seemed disturbed. He wasn't torn between two personalities as several immortals had been in the past few days, and Kane might be now. But he was torn nonetheless, between self-hatred in remembering his time as Death and the overwhelming desire to remember more about his life. The key was to get both urges acting toward the same goal.

"You know I can't beat Kane. If you kill him, you'll be keeping me alive, just like Cassandra wants, at the same time given yourself a chance to remember more."

This feeble, ugly attempt at manipulation was just the thing, apparently. Methos began twirling his sword – with his off hand -- while walking toward what looked to Duncan to be a big patch of empty. The way the Kurgan smirked, however, it clearly was not. Now the giant was coming for him and Duncan involuntarily swallowed. While he had worked to save Methos' life, he had forgotten how much danger his own was in.

On their bluff a few hundred meters away, another foursome was almost as worried about Duncan as the man himself. Four veteran watchers peered through high-powered night goggles.

The Kurgan's watcher was the latest, and last, in a line stretching back more than 2000 years. Methos had been thought to be a myth and had no such line, of course. Once discovered, though, he had an entire team following him, or trying to. The woman here was the leader, and high-ranking within the organization. Kane's surprise reemergence had prompted an emergency assignment of a top of the line field operative, but one who was junior in rank. And then there was Joe, Duncan's watcher and friend. And now his defender.

The four of them were exhausted, conferring with the organization during the day and staying up all night observing the duels. They were even more frightened than tired. Connor Macleod was gone, following Clay, Jerusalem, Tak-Ne, and Guanyin. The hopes of the Prize being won by an immortal they might be able to trust rested solely on Duncan's shoulders.

From long, long before Joe had been with the organization -- since some immortals had exhibited special abilities centuries ago -- the leadership of the group had known that it couldn't merely try to help the right immortal win the Prize. Too much power in anyone's hands was unacceptable, no matter how noble some immortals seemed.

Duncan MacLeod, with some advertising from Joe, had changed that somewhat. There wasn't consensus but there was majority agreement that the Watchers would hold off as long as Duncan was still alive. He could be allowed to live to claim the Prize, at least at the outset, then his behavior closely monitored to see if action needed to be taken. The nature of the Prize was of no small interest to the Watchers, of course. It was possible it could be of considerable use to humankind in the right hands.

The agreement had been tested as the surviving immortals displayed more and more abilities. How many bullets would it take to kill the Kurgan now and how long would he stay dead? Joe had staved off a decision to kill the last two, no matter who they were, by arguing that some pairs of immortals, such as Duncan and Connor, would simply not fight and the Prize would never be claimed. When the Kurgan took Connor's head, the debate was restarted but Joe had prevailed again. He had the best information on the Methos-Duncan relationship and he insisted they would not fight the last fight, either.

The organization certainly didn't trust Methos, after he had hoodwinked them so many times, most recently as Adam Pierson. Worse, the Watchers kept excellent records. And it had been discovered that he had infiltrated the organization within a few decades of its inception, popping in and out as the mild-mannered scholar/researcher, keeping tabs on possible enemies, and using the Watchers as shelter. Some senior members seemed to regard it as a personal humiliation. Augmenting this greatly was the open fear and hatred when Joe had been forced to report that Methos had taken on his Death image.

It had been decided centuries ago that, were the Kurgan to be winning the final battle, the Watchers would have to kill him as quickly as possible, by any means possible. That had been a daunting thought before automatic weapons and rocket launchers; with the abilities the immortals were now showing, it was still daunting.

The real nightmare, though, was Kane. His seemingly magical powers, especially the invisibility, could almost entirely nullify the Watchers' ability to kill him. If he gained the upper hand, it would be necessary to gun him down even if the organization wasn't fully ready to act. His watcher was an expert marksman and was ready with a scoped rifle for when Kane appeared to finish off Methos. Joe hoped it wouldn't be necessary but, if it was, he hoped that Kane would actually become visible. No one could guess what kind of power he had after tricking Kell.

Scratch that, someone could guess. He happened to be 5000 years old and acting a bit like a child. Joe knew Methos was using his weaker arm. No surprise there, even after that miracle he pulled off to reattach the other one. But Joe wasn't sure why Methos had been talking to himself earlier and why he was grinning like a loon now. This was either another persona –Methos had more than enough of them, after all – or Cassandra's quickening had unhinged him.Fortunately, nothing had unhinged his ability to see Kane. For all the world, it looked as if Methos was fighting the air. But glimpses of his face showed only that grin, not fear or even consternation.

MacLeod, on the other hand, was plainly overmatched. As soon as Methos had gone for the magician, the Kurgan had strode over to Duncan and swung for his head. No words, no stares, no warm-up exercises. With Connor MacLeod's quickening added to all the power he had before, the Kurgan probably felt invincible. Joe looked at the man's watcher and winced; the Kurgan could very well be invincible.

Duncan was on the defensive from the start. After exchanging a few blows and nearly being forced to his knees, he raced toward the compound wall and looked to be trapping himself, until running a good 6 feet up the wall and to the right. A punch missed Duncan by a country mile but sunk several inches into the concrete. The giant didn't even flinch as he resumed his pursuit. Joe mumbled uselessly, "Run, Mac, run for your life."

Joe heard the gasp from the Kurgan's watcher. He looked over and the man shook his head – he'd never seen anything like that before. "I don't know if he got that from the Highlander or before, but he is definitely different than when he arrivted."

Joe then sought the eyes of Methos' watcher: "Joe, you know my view: he's long been over the top. With him, it means nothing that we don't see it clearly."

Kane's watcher was next: "He was bad enough before Kell. And if he can kill Methos . . ." she trailed off.

Joe groaned. He made a call he had dreaded most of his adult life. The Watchers assumed that communications were being monitored this close to Jerusalem, though there was no indication they had been specifically targeted, or even identified. Even so, the language had to be kept vague.

"Dawson. Kurgan already beyond the pale. Kane, possibly." Joe paused, but if he didn't continue he'd lose all credibility, "Methos possibly. Kane plus Methos almost sure. Unanimous agreement all preparations be completed immediately. Will advise if contest looks unpleasant. Out."

There would be no words from the other end, so that only the four of them were at imminent risk. They certainly would not be detained before Joe gave the final word but detection of the Watcher's planned intervention in the Game was almost certain. Their organization would be revealed and essentially destroyed. Very possibly, he and the other members of the leadership would be tried for murder. But all that and much more would be worthwhile if the Watchers could prevent the wrong immortal from threatening civilization.

With the call now made, a small army was well on its way to being gathered. The Watchers would strike from as many directions with as many groups of heavily armed men as possible, acknowledging that local security would intercept some and respond very quickly to the scene, not to mention what the immortals themselves could do. It was understood to be a suicide mission – either the strike force would be killed or it would be captured and put away forever, as world governments sought to hide immortals from their citizens.

Joe's phone and those of his three companions beeped simultaneously. One time. The preparations discussed yesterday had been made in advance and the force was already primed. If either the Kurgan or Kane was on the verge of victory, the Watchers would do whatever was necessary to kill everyone in the compound.

end part 32


	34. Hunters

Part 33 Hunters

Two predators were on the move in the compound. One was well over 2m tall, weighing at least 120 kilos. He knew his opponent was agile, skilled, and tough, and the chase would be long and tiring. But he had no doubts that it could only end one way.

The other predator was a head shorter and perhaps 40 kilos lighter, when it suited him to be. His opponent was a trickster but a ruthless and extremely cunning one. His battle would be neither long nor tiring, instead it could come down to one moment – what trap was the prey hoping to spring?

So Kurgan pursued and Duncan ran, watching and waiting for a chance to even the odds somehow. So Methos and Kane weaved back and forth, both waiting for the other to force the issue and perhaps reveal something of use.

While Methos' body was walking, his mind was still racing. As it ever had, the prospect of death focused his thoughts. So had the prospect of extending and sharpening his memory, emphasized by Duncan.

With his better sword arm unusable for now, Kane had a good chance to beat him by standing and fighting. But it wasn't the magician's way. First, he would try to secure an advantage through illusion, or whatever other ability he had picked up from lasting this far into the Gathering and taking Kell's head, in particular.

Methos could see Kane, at least to this point, and he could raise his own mass to such an extent that Kane would have no chance in unarmed combat. As cheering as those thoughts were, they could not be relied upon. Kell had proven himself Kane's superior and been beaten, nonetheless. Methos would not be misled so easily, but Kane was also more powerful now.

It was difficult to suppress the urge to scream and leap. He could remember more with another strong quickening and either his death or Kane's would make Cassandra happy. But last night, as bad as it was, could only scramble his brain somewhat. It couldn't overcome 5000+ years of caution.

Kane was dealing with his own demons -- their names were Kell, Ramirez, and Guanyin. And he wasn't 5000 years old. He blinked.

As Methos edged forward, he was confronted by images of Kronos and Cassandra. He could still see Kane behind them; that wasn't the problem. The problem was that they were talking. The image of Cassandra was railing at him. He was a rapist, a murderer, deserved to die, and so on. It wasn't very convincing. While he had no doubt Cassandra could be shrill – he had her memories, after all – she had never been shrill with him. Just a drawn sword.

Kronos, on the other hand, was difficult to ignore. He spoke calmly, inviting his brother to kill Kane, then kill the Kurgan-MacLeod winner when he was down with the quickening. This contradicted what Cassandra was saying but Kane's goal wasn't to convince him of anything, just confuse him. Only Methos deserved the Prize, Kronos insisted, only Methos could properly reunite the Horsemen. He could remake the world as it should be, as it was in the old times. And he would never be alone – Kronos would always be there. So would Silas.

Cassandra disappeared, replaced by Silas when Kane saw who had Methos' attention. Kane had killed Guanyin who had killed Silas – Kane had memories of the Horsemen to work with. Kronos and Silas now appeared dressed as in days past, as Methos himself was. They were smiling broadly, beckoning him forward. His brothers. Since Methos was going forward anyway, it was that much harder to take his eyes off them. He could still see Kane, it seemed harmless to enjoy the memory.

He tripped. As he fell, Methos cursed himself for a fool. Kane had used an illusion to make a large rock seem smaller; if Methos had paid the slightest bit of attention to where he was going, he would have seen through the trick. But he had allowed the distraction to work, allowed himself to be caught up in his own thoughts as he had since taking Cassandra's head. His mind was clear now, but it was too late.

Whatever his internal struggles, Kane hadn't lost his tactical sense. He charged as Methos fell, swinging his sword wildly to force Methos to parry awkwardly. That turned out to be a feint. As soon as Methos parried, Kane dropped his sword, grabbed Methos' one good arm with both of his own and wrenched it backward so that Methos dropped his own blade. Then he immediately let go of the arm and went for the throat.

The plan was sound. Methos could see through his best disguise but all Kane needed in this situation was a slight advantage. Rather than some new ability won from Kell, he used the knowledge of the Horsemen recently won from Silas, along with a perfect likeness of Kronos, to throw Methos off-balance. Now he had two good hands around Methos' neck and Methos had only one good hand to oppose. The ability to raise his mass didn't make Methos' neck any thicker or stronger; he was being choked.

The daze Cassandra's quickening had left him in had been replaced by the daze of strangulation. It seemed to take forever but Methos finally came upon an obvious means of escape. He raised his mass as high as he was able while being suffocated, and rolled.

It was enough, his enhanced weight was too much for Kane to control and the grip was broken. That still left Methos on the ground sucking air into his lungs while Kane was free to retrieve a sword. The only thing he could do while Kane approached was get his wind back. The magician had a slight smile on his face – the battle was not yet over but his gambit had provided a very considerable advantage.

Methos knew trying to outmaneuver Kane and get back to his sword would not work – his opponent was too experienced. That left the standard tactic in this situation of accepting a serious wound in order to close for hand-to-hand combat. Methos didn't like this option. He would certainly heal quickly and could push Kane around in close quarters but he had one good arm and no training to work around that absent a sword. It was a roll of the dice and Methos was not a gambler.

There might be a better choice, "Your sword is heavy, Kane. Your arms are heavy. You can no longer stand. You need to stop, to rest."

Kane paused and seemed to droop. Then he straightened, grimaced, and renewed his advance, though more cautiously.

Bloody hell! It had worked for a moment, Methos knew it had. He hadn't studied and practiced with the Voice but he wasn't unfamiliar with the idea and his quickening now was far more powerful than Cassandra had ever dreamed of being. What went wrong?

There wasn't much time to figure it out as Kane unleashed a combination of swipes designed to anticipate where Methos would dodge and inflict enough damage to slow him down for a minute or two. Methos lowered his mass and flew around in ways very few people, including immortals, could ever attempt. Even so, it was just a stalling tactic. Kane wasn't sloppy enough to overcommit; this could only end badly.

As they danced, Methos caught Kane stealing glances at the Kurgan and MacLeod. No surprise. Despite the gravity of his own situation, he was still obsessed with revenge against Connor. Even more so having taken Kell's head. And with Connor gone, only Duncan could begin to satisfy the bloodlust. Methos was just an obstacle, or a means to an end.

Inspiration struck. Of course, the Voice hadn't been able to convince Kane he was exhausted, the man was frantic with hatred. He needed to use that, not try to overcome it.

Methos moved until he was within a few meters of his sword. At that point, Kane refused to let him get any closer. It was time.

"Connor MacLeod's not dead. It's all been a trick. He's standing over there, laughing."

Kane didn't flinch but his eyes were wider.

"He's waiting with a knife to slip into your ribs. Then he plans to bury you alive again. He and his brother will never fight, there will be no Prize, and you'll be there for all eternity."

Kane was mesmerized, his face so contorted with rage it looked as if it would split open.

"He's right behind you!"

Kane whirled with his sword and Methos rolled for his. He came out of the roll expecting Kane to be on top of him but the man was actually conducting a fight with the imaginary Connor MacLeod. He was pivoting and slashing, screaming that this time it would be Connor buried alive.

Now armed, Methos inched closer, but there was no reaction from Kane. The illusionist was completely lost to delusion. Methos victory was assured, but he paused. Given the effect Cassandra had on him, taking Kane's head was a major risk. Not that there was any choice. Ideally, Methos would have meditated first but he couldn't exactly sit down, cross his legs, hum, and hope Kane would keep himself occupied with non-Connor. He took a deep breath and used his sword to invite Kane's madness into his own mind.

As a gigantic quickening gathered and gathered, Duncan took a moment from his flight to smile, while the Kurgan nodded ever so slightly. Just before he was pummeled worse than he could ever remember, Methos turned to the crest of the hill where the Watchers were huddled and gave a centuries-old salute, one used before the organization's tattoo had become universal.

Peering through their night goggles, each of the watchers smirked. Joe kept his thought to himself -- glad the Council didn't see that, they're already pissed enough at the old man. Nonetheless, there was palpable relief among the group that Kane was gone. Even a crazy Methos couldn't be any worse.

The Kurgan-MacLeod duel looked no closer to a conclusion than it had at the start and the watchers took the time to try to relax away the tension that had soared when Kane looked to have the upper hand.

"I know you like him, but he's far too powerful now for us to take the chance. We have to put him down." This was Methos' watcher, just as senior as Joe and trusted more by those currently running the organization.

"Unless MacLeod wins. I guarantee you Methos won't fight MacLeod."

"You mean the Methos before Kronos, the Methos before Cassandra, the Methos before Kane? He looked half-insane out there as it was."

"But he was still planning with MacLeod."

"Who Kane hates. And now Methos has to deal with Kane's quickening."

"I admit it's going to be a tough one. But Kane hated Connor, not Duncan. And Methos is 5000 years old; he's not going dark off anyone's quickening. Duncan's practically his student for Pete's sake!"

The reply was interrupted by the arrival of two large vans. They had been moving slowly so as not to attract attention, and for good reason. From one van spilled half-a-dozen heavily armed men, who immediately began to assemble a rocket launcher. Joe knew they had both gas and anti-personnel munitions which spat out steel fragments. The man in the passenger seat of the other van went to Eve, Methos' watcher. She had obviously been designated as in charge. She didn't wait for him to speak, simply nodding. He also didn't speak, instead turning and signaling to the van. At that signal a heavy-caliber machine gun emerged from the interior to be mounted on top.

Joe knew there were at least two other, similar groups on high ground within striking distance of the compound, not to mention two assault helicopters hidden in trawlers offshore and ambush teams waiting in the Old City and along likely escape routes. Anyone receiving the order to use such weaponry would have attack aircraft over their position within just a few minutes, and a correspondingly short life span, but the job would be done by then.

Eve returned to Joe, "If Duncan loses. Or if he wins and Methos even starts to raise his sword against him . . ."

"I agree completely."

Below them, the quickening was finally ending and Methos shook off the astonishing pain to revel in what Kane's power had allowed him to remember.

end part 33


	35. Live and learn

Part 34 Live and Learn

Methos was rapt. The near-madness that Cassandra had inflicted upon him was pushed away by recollection of his life and what it meant for the Gathering. Kane's own super-charged quickening felt merely like a distant shout. Even the brawl in front of him wasn't particularly interesting. So he sat directly on the ground and stared into space while perhaps the only immortal capable of killing him stalked his student and friend.

Kurgan was happy. The younger MacLeod was strong and skilled and fast; it was a worthy fight. And when it was over, he would get the Old Man, not the crazy magician. Methos would probably even let him pause to honor the Clan MacLeod, in recognition of Connor letting him live for Duncan's sake a few years back. That thought might have come from Connor but the Kurgan didn't care. His quickening was now so strong that Duncan MacLeod couldn't hurt him. But he could certainly hurt the boy. Once he got his hands on him, it would be over and the Prize would be in sight.

Duncan was strangely satisfied. He could barely spare Methos a glance, then could not stifle a snort as he saw the old man park himself in the middle of the compound and – what did Richie used to call it? – zone out. He considered strategic uses for Methos' seemingly immovable position but Kurgan, despite his size, was too athletic for such games.

At this point, Duncan was glad of his own weakness. If Methos and Kurgan could have gone either way before, then absorbing Kane's more powerful quickening should tip the advantage in the older immortal's favor. Connor would get his vengeance, just not by the hand of his kin.

Dawson told his companions that, through his goggles, he could almost see a light bulb go on above Duncan's head. Methos was lost in space and Kane was headless but there was one more party to their fight unaccounted for. Thinking about being weaker than Kane gave Duncan an idea of how he could win despite his weakness.

Even though he was more agile, he couldn't make it too obvious to Kurgan what he was doing. So he continued parrying and running until he spotted his objective. He moved away, then back, then away, finally using the staggering force of one of Kurgan's blows to somersault into a roll that brought him to what he wanted. Kane's sword. He jumped up with both swords in hand and, for the first time in this challenge, a smile on his face.

Kurgan paused for a moment, then came on, baring his teeth in response.

Two swords. Of course. Kurgan had been bothered by Jerusalem's speed, Duncan had seen plenty of evidence of that. Duncan had practiced countless hours with two short swords since he had been defeated centuries ago by Otavio Consone. Two full swords were much heavier but he was now much stronger. He spun his weapons and, for a change in this duel, moved forward.

It was difficult parrying with enough force while trying to balance two swords. Eventually, however, Duncan was rewarded with what looked to be a nasty wound to one of Kurgan's arms. One second there was a deep gash and blood streaming out, the next there was light of the quickening, the next there was no sign of any cut at all.

Oh well, it was not like this was a surprise. Duncan had to try for something more serious. Jerusalem had been able to do it and, while Kurgan was stronger than he was then, Jerusalem hadn't taken Haresh Clay's head. Duncan had to keep moving to keep Kurgan from knocking him around but the Spanish swordfighting he had used to finally kill Consone helped here, too. It was constant movement and, now, so was he. Faster than he expected, there was an opening and Duncan was able to sink his sword partway into Kurgan's ribcage. He removed it immediately in order to press for more.

Kurgan didn't pause in his assault even for a moment. Actually, he intensified it. It was as if he was completely invulnerable. Having lost his rhythm and a bit of balance inflicting what should have been a telling blow, Duncan was forced to use both swords to defend. And that was a mistake. With both his arms occupied, it left Kurgan free to hit him. It wasn't a punch to sink into concrete. It had to be short and fast and couldn't be telegraphed or Duncan's martial arts training would enable him to avoid it.

So it was little more than a backhand to the side of the head. But it spun Duncan completely around. He barely kept his footing and his grip on his own sword, Kane's went flying. Duncan did his best to bounce away before turning to parry but the Kurgan surprised him by leaping and barreling into him, sending them both sprawling. The smaller man got the worst of it. Before Duncan could move away or regain his sword, Kurgan grabbed his arm and bent it behind him despite Duncan's best efforts. Then he when for Duncan's neck.

He wasn't trying to choke him, as Slan Quince had only a few decades ago. No, as strong as Slan was, Kurgan now made him look like an infant. He was actually trying to pull Duncan's head from his shoulders. It might not work but the damage would be beyond immediate repair for any quickening. Then Duncan would be at his mercy.

Duncan squirmed to try to get his own hold but Kurgan was too skilled and experienced for that. Duncan was disciplined to keep fighting in these situations but discipline could only substitute for oxygen for so long. From atop his ridge, Dawson screamed, "Methos! Help him!"

Maybe Joe's voice gave Duncan a bit of extra energy. He had been trying to flip Kurgan forward but the giant was too strong in holding him back. Now he let himself go limp and Kurgan pulled him into the air. While airborne, he threw himself sideways to gain precious space, then managed to get jam fingers into Kurgan's eye. Try healing that, you bastard.

Kurgan had overcome far too much pain in his life to just screech and clutch at his injury, but his grip weakened and Duncan was able to vault backward over him. For a moment, he considered unarmed combat with Kurgan nursing his eye, but Duncan couldn't imagine how he could incapacitate the giant given the strength of his quickening. He raced for his sword and the chase began again.

Methos sat, bemused. He knew the Watchers were beside themselves with fear and panic and that dozens of nasty weapons were pointed in their direction. But it wasn't going to happen that way. Methos wasn't precisely certain of what was to come but he had a good enough idea to be sure that there would be no climactic final battle or claiming of some Prize of incredible power.

Fine, he should probably go reassure them so no one got an itchy trigger finger. Methos strolled toward the entrance of the compound, to find the huge stone gate wouldn't open. Rather than looking for some control, he simply leaped the wall.

At this, every weapon held by a Watcher other than Dawson was sighted on him. The shift was loud enough for Methos to hear. He put both hands up in the air and smiled, then tossed his sword on the ground. After waiting a moment, he began walking toward Joe. Joe immediately left his perch and moved forward himself, ignoring an inarticulate protest from Eve, the other senior member.

"Did I hear you yelling that I should cheat?"

"I wasn't yelling."

"Oh, so the Gathering has given me better hearing. How unexpected."

"You're in an awfully good mood, considering your friend is about to die."

"It's not going to happen the way you think, Joe."

"Oh, really."

"Yes, really. And you have to get my former comrades to hold off."

"If the Kurgan wins, you're both going down. Hard. I can't stop it, and I'm not sure I even want to.

"None of us is going to win the Prize here, I guarantee it."

"You're gonna have to explain."

"OK, how's this: I am 100 times older than you. More. I know your own damn organization better than everyone on the Council put together. I've protected the Watchers, I've protected you, I've protected MacLeod. Just do as I tell you!"

Joe didn't flinch, "You know, I think I liked you better with that shit-eating grin you had a little while ago."

"Yes, well, Cassandra's quickening didn't fully agree with me. Things are clearer now."

"Kane made things clearer."

"Is that supposed to be the clever inquiry as to whether I've had a dark quickening? Is my head supposed to spin around in circles and my eyes turn blood red? Do as I say or commit murder for no reason; your call, Dawson."

At that, Methos strode away at a pace he couldn't match. Joe sighed and, since once wasn't enough, trudged back to get dumped on by Eve and the others, too.

Methos leaped back over the wall to see a knight fighting for his life against a great dragon. Or so it might have seemed 1000 years or more ago. Duncan's simple clothes were torn in a half-dozen places but he kept Kurgan, towering in his bird of prey armor, at bay.

Confident the old man wasn't going to interfere, Kurgan didn't bother to look at Methos. Duncan did for just a moment, to see him mouth the words he had spoken before -- all or nothing. Duncan didn't have time for even a nod but the message was received. He had been fighting this wrong, trying to create the right opportunity, as he had in all the years before the Gathering. There would be none. He had to survive, to live, until there was an opening, then try to end it with one stroke. Win or die.

This time as Kurgan charged, Duncan didn't run, he didn't dodge, he didn't meet every blow perfectly. He worked to stay away from the most dangerous strikes, accepting other wounds and counting on his quickening to heal them. The only thing that mattered was the one chance.

So Duncan stood and fought and was battered by the most powerful of immortals. Kurgan wasn't one to make mistakes; he had only made one against Connor the first time and that only after Connor had been saved by a mortal woman. Despite Duncan's own power and endless training, fatigue began to set in. He was weakening.

Focus, focus. Something was different in Kurgan's attacks. Yes, there it was. He was impatient, looking for the finish. Rushing just a little. This was the chance, but what could he do? Kurgan healed instantly, he had caught Connor's sword in his hand! Duncan could see the mistakes but he didn't know how to take advantage of them.

He mustered some of his remaining energy and leaped right over Kurgan's head. The giant easily parried over his back then followed, turning, by swinging his sword so heavily it almost knocked Duncan over. The next lunge was almost as difficult to deal with. Now Duncan was trying to hold his ground and couldn't. He was simply outmatched. Joe tuned out the complaints of his fellows and gritted his teeth against Duncan's death.

All or nothing. At the next ringing blow, Duncan chose to drop his sword.

He pretended to grab at it, then had to leap aside as Kurgan nearly took his head. But he stayed close enough that a roll would reclaim it. Victory in his grasp, Kurgan was a bit wilder again in his attack. He was growing frustrated at Duncan's nimbleness, hacking at arms, legs, and for the heart, since Duncan's quickening wouldn't heal him fast enough to avoid the follow-up strike.

Duncan could have beaten Kurgan to a sword. If not his, then Kane's. But it would have just delayed the inevitable; he couldn't win that way. He needed Kurgan to believe the fight could finally be ended. So he jumped over the giant again, at an angle to run for Kane's blade. And purposefully stumbled to the side as he landed, away from Kurgan. Now it would be a race, him for the weapon and Kurgan to finish him just as he got there. Duncan dove and reached the sword, again, only to see Kurgan leaning over him and steel coming for his neck.

**  
**end part 34

Author's note:

Don't worry, I have an ending. It's something I thought of when they first introduced Methos in the series. I don't think it will be too surprising, but it is a bit weird.

If it turns out you don't like it, please write your own. There are lots of different things that can happen from here – stories that could end in 5 minutes to stories that continue on indefinitely. The only thing I ask if you do this is you say something like "Better Thee Than Me AU" and don't alter my story in some major way, so that Connor's really alive or whatever.


	36. Wet firecracker

Part 35 Wet Firecracker

Warning: oncoming grossness. Something like this is necessary to give the right feel for the end of this one.

It happened in a split second, so it might have been a sixth sense or it might have just been simple chance that Methos came out of his daze and happened to be looking in the right direction at the right time. The Kurgan had surprised Duncan with his speed and Duncan was coming out of the roll which brought him to the sword. Tired of the chase, the Kurgan had then swung wildly for the neck, abandoning form and leaving himself open. Unfortunately, his sword was closer to Duncan than Duncan's sword was to the Kurgan. And Duncan's position made it impossible to move his head enough to dodge.

Instinct said to twist, to squirm, to do something, anything to avoid oncoming death. It wouldn't have been enough; the blade would have still bitten into his neck, killing him temporarily and ending the battle permanently. Fortunately, Duncan had trained from adolescence to ignore instincts when necessary. Instead, "all or nothing" had been echoing through his mind for the past few minutes, pounded in by the weight of the Kurgan's blows. No half-measures had worked and certainly none would work now.

Rather than trying to roll away, Duncan brought his knees up toward his chest as if doing a somersault. At the same time, he swung his own blade wildly toward the Kurgan's neck. It was an impossible attempt by almost all standards, a week ago Duncan wouldn't have even tried it. Despite his enhanced athleticism, it was awkward. It still shouldn't have worked, the Kurgan should have been able to shift so that Duncan found only a shoulder. The giant, though, was too intent on finishing matters. And despite all this, Duncan's riposte should have been too late, falling short of its target when the Kurgan's sword sliced through his neck.

But Duncan managed to tilt backward far enough so that Kurgan had to chop through his legs to get to his neck. It was an insane move no immortal would have tried until yesterday, as it would have merely postponed death until the next challenge. In the last 24 hours, however, Duncan had seen Methos magically heal his arm and the Kurgan rebound from deep wounds instantly. He hoped to recover and, if not, at least the Kurgan would not win.

There would be excruciating pain, of course, but not as much as the tens of thousands of hours of training his various teachers had put him through in his near half-millenium. The psychological torture associated with being sliced apart was no worse than the torture of having Connor ripped from him yesterday.

So the Kurgan's blade tore through Duncan's legs below the knee, then most of the way through his thighs. The double wound was gruesome, shock was immediate, and the blood loss would very quickly be fatal. But through it all, Duncan's arm held steady and sure. In a shower of his own blood and tissue, he sliced off the head of the most fearsome immortal in history.

The Kurgan's headless body toppled forward, while the shock taking over his own body expressed itself on Duncan's face. He had held himself together this long but the trauma suffered, as well as the utter surprise that he would actually live, could no longer be stayed. He involuntarily curled up, or as much as possible given the terrible injuries. Trauma gave way quickly to death, while the Kurgan's unfathomable quickening was still gathering force.

On their hilltop, the Watchers exhaled as one. They were further relieved when Methos fled the scene. The more experienced of them realized why, and Joe and Eve simultaneously ordered the planned assault be stayed for the moment.

Duncan reanimated, only to be blasted. Through incredible pain, he vaguely saw Methos jogging toward him, having just jumped back into the compound. He stopped at a safe distance and Duncan could no longer hold back the screams. He could not have imagined anything like this. It never seemed to end. Duncan was hoarse, uttering silent cries, before the quickening finally began to ebb.

Then Methos ran to grab Duncan's severed legs, jamming them painfully into the stumps. "Don't try to talk. Your upper legs are already mostly healed but this part will take work. The faster you can do it, the less damage to your calves and feet there will be. You're stunned and not experienced with concentrating your quickening but you have the power to do this completely." Methos voice and eyes were all that kept Duncan from fainting. "I know you can feel your quickening and the amputation. Bring them together,"

Duncan tried to speak but his voice was gone. Instead, he just shook his head.

"Yes, you can. You have tremendous power flowing through you. Just push some of it to your injuries."

Duncan looked to be concentrating but the legs weren't joining. Methos went at it again. "When the quickening strikes, you feel the pain where it hits. It's not everywhere, all the time; it has a location. Focus on those spots. His quickening was so strong that alone should do it."

Now the legs began to close. Duncan pushed himself as much as he could before physical and psychological exhaustion set in and the healing stopped.

"It'll do for now. You should be able to walk after a fashion without doing any damage. When you regain your strength, try again. You have enough power, just not the practice."

Duncan lay flat on the ground while Methos sat unconcernedly next to him, "Sorry I had to leave you but, after you died, the quickening started looking for a live receptacle. I'd have taken it for you but you needed the power for your legs."

Duncan mouthed his thanks and Methos nodded, almost gravely.

"I owed you for finding a way to reach me after Cassandra." A smile appeared, "Who knew you could be so manipulative, MacLeod?"

Several hundred meters away, Joe Dawson began to move toward his friends. "Joe, stop, that's an order."

"What are you going to do, Eve, fire me? Shoot me?"

"We don't know what they're capable of!"

"Come on. You gave the stand-down the same time I did. You saw Methos helping him. You know Methos doesn't care about fair fights, he was helping because there's not gonna be a challenge."

"That doesn't mean WE aren't a target."

"Maybe you are, but I'm not."

Joe then trudged off, leaving Eve to gesture to the rest of the Watcher platoon to follow, very slowly and with their weapons ready.

A few minutes later, Duncan started to pull himself to a sitting position, eventually succeeding with an arm from Methos. "It's amazing, I thought I'd never be able to move again. Now I can almost feel myself reenergizing."

"Get used to it, MacLeod, you're probably more powerful now than I am."

Duncan was, again, obviously struck by a thought, "What if it's a dark quickening?"

"He wasn't like that, MacLeod. Oh, he had one of the worst cases of bloodlust in history. Kill, rape, kill, rape. But it always started with hunting one of us; that's all he cared about. The only one left for you to hunt is me and I plan to stay quite far away. So the cycle will never start. If you have problems, the Watchers will stop you; it's not like they need to hide anymore. Plus I'm just a phone call away."

"Nice move, by the way. You've become a fine young athlete." Methos' tone was utterly casual, as if they had been sparring.

The last two immortals watched their chosen group of Watchers approach, blithely ignoring the automatic rifles trained at them. The odor coming from the mortals indicated Duncan's means of triumph had caused some stomachs to empty. As senior members, Joe and Eve composed themselves as much as possible and came forward. Methos, naturally, smirked.

"Told you, Joe. No grand finale, no Prize, no angels or demons, no end of the world."

"And precisely how did you know that?" This from Eve.

Methos smirk turned into a broad smile, the kind used to charm, "Now, now. If you're very, very good, I might fill in some of those nasty gaps in the Watcher Chronicles."

Eve bit back her retort; obviously, Methos had pushed the right button. He plowed forward, relentless. "Joe has my number, call me a month from today and I'll give you a down payment."

She hadn't quite been turned, "We're not leaving the two of you alone."

"No worries, MacLeod was just leaving."

This surprised everyone, including Duncan. "Methos, I thought you at least wanted to make sure that everything's . . . all right in the next few days."

"Oh, you know the drill now. Besides it's not as if you have a challenge tomorrow you have to be ready for. Joe can take care of you for a day or two until your head clears. With Eve's permission." He smiled at her again, and she squirmed slightly, causing the grin to broaden. "And under heavy guard, of course, to make sure the dreaded Methos doesn't come for you while you're mucking through all of the Kurgan's bloody memories."

Dawson snorted while Eve looked thoughtful. An extended silence caused all eyes to turn to her and, finally, she nodded. "But I expect that phone call." She still wasn't comfortable using his name.

Methos bowed slightly, "Your expectations shall be fulfilled." She moved off to issue orders.

"Joe, do you mind leaving one of your vehicles. There's only one in the compound and I've had quite enough of MacLeod's company. Oh, and not the one with the mounted heavy machine gun."

Dawson shook his head in mock disbelief, not that he had any trouble believing Methos' presumptiveness. "I've got a whale of a report to file. Don't be strangers, guys."

Duncan gave Joe a bear hug that had him reddening and gasping for air. Methos just gave a small wave. The watchers drove off, which both immortals knew to be only moving to a more distant spot and waiting.

"Do you really think we can separate; we're not joined at the hip for the rest of time?"

"As long as you provide the beer."

"Methos. I know you've seen everything and done everything and know everything and understand everything and are above it all and one with the universe, ohm ohm ohm, but there's still a lot I want to accomplish. Especially now."

"Especially now? You mean, now that you're the equivalent of a Greek demigod?"

"No, I mean now that Connor and Amanda and Richie and all the others are gone. I have things to do to honor their memory. A whole lot of things. And then there are the things I couldn't do while the Game was going on."

"Very well, MacLeod, but you need to control your noble side as well as your dark side. The Watchers can decide you're interfering too much even if it's for the good, and I'd hate to hear you had been hit by a machine gun firing acid pellets."

That gave Duncan pause. "So are we going to try it?"

"Yes, I'll stay here and you head back to the hotel. Tomorrow or whenever you're healed and coherent, you go west. Call me if there's a problem. Meantime, I'll go east."

"Why east?"

"Research, what else?"

Duncan had more to say but Methos shook him off. He gestured toward the compound and its grave site. "We both have very important arrangements to make and time that needs to be spent in private. I'll be in touch. Promise." Duncan could only nod and limp to Joe's car.

end part 35


	37. Absolution

Part 36 Absolution

Time passed, and none of the Watchers' fears were realized. No new immortals were born but the last two were so powerful that it was inconceivable some accident could claim one and possibly leave the Prize to the other. It seemed the worst threat from the Gathering had been avoided.

There were other . . . issues. Methos kept his promise and the Watcher chronicles benefited greatly, naturally triggering arguments over what to do with them. Elements began to be gradually leaked to the outside world, with Methos of course insisting that he be entirely omitted. It made sense to omit Duncan, too, and the world learned of immortals only in the past tense, the Watchers claiming to have killed the last one, the Kurgan, before he could claim the Prize.

What Methos was doing beyond phoning in outlandish stories was unclear. The Watchers knew where he was, he had stayed in the Middle East. The team assigned to him could not make heads or tales of what he was up to, but there was a purpose. Methos went to and fro specific, if puzzling, locations, as if he were looking for something. But he wouldn't answer when asked and, left to their own devices, the Watchers were baffled.

What MacLeod was doing was all too clear. Methos, in fact, was the easier of the two to handle. He was long used to knowing far more and being more powerful than everyone around him, the change was only one of degree. The Highlander was at times seemingly intoxicated by his new abilities.

After a rough first night and a near-insane day with the Kurgan's quickening, where Joe had to quarantine him by force, Duncan recovered quickly. He found he recovered from everything quickly now – even exhaustion lasted only a few moments. Every once in a while, his watchers would catch him glancing around to see that no one was nearby, then running straight up the side of a multi-story building.

The problem was that he had immediately returned to his noble knight persona, only now the knight was supercharged. Joe would plead with him, warn him, threaten him, and more than a few times, have his team shoot to prevent Duncan from righting every single wrong that reached his ears. It was clear to Joe that Duncan was working off some of his grief, but the Watchers were profoundly unhappy about how often and how blatantly the one-man immortal cavalry came charging to someone's rescue, especially since he didn't always rescue the right someone.

After several hectic years, and a dozen deaths at the hands of the team "observing" him, Duncan began to calm. His sense of honor, the knowledge gained from the Kurgan, Connor, Amanda, and others, the Watchers' presence, plus the occasional consultation with Methos argued more clearly against abusing his abilities in the name of justice. He still did his bit to make the world a little better, but less frantically. Methos still wandered. And the Watchers still tracked the two, but in smaller and less heavily armed numbers as time went by.

The last two communicated with each other fairly frequently but mostly stayed well apart. At first it was to reassure the Watchers that no last battle would occur, then there just seemed little need to go beyond ever-improving video communication. Duncan did try repeatedly to sound Methos out about his memories but was always put off. Since Methos was otherwise more helpful and engaged than he had been before the Gathering, Duncan decided to let him have time. There was, after all, all the time in the world.

Almost exactly a decade after they had separated, Methos left a message, "Meet me for the anniversary. Here's the location. It's not Jerusalem; I have something important to show you. It will take you a couple of days to reach it and please be timely for a change."

Duncan smirked. He made his travel plans and was unsurprised to find Methos waiting in the early morning hour in which he finally arrived. He had sensed him thousands of meters up, dozens of kilometers away.

"Umm, interesting choice of habitat?"

"I don't live at the airstrip, MacLeod. I have a car, Land Rover actually."

"How quaint. Where are we going?"

"The beach. First, though, we have to lose our respective shadows."

It didn't take long. Methos had obviously planned for a way to quickly lose both groups of watchers and he was one of the great planners in history.

As they drove, Methos was quietly staggered at the power he felt from MacLeod. It felt like the man could leap a tall building at a single bound, in the recent vernacular, or perhaps knock one down.

Inevitably, Duncan asked the question, "Does this mean you're going to tell me what's been going on for the last 10 years?"

Inevitably, Methos ignored him, "How's Joe?"

"Fine, or at least he was fine until you told him he couldn't come along. Then he about split a gut."

"This isn't something for Watchers, MacLeod. Not even Joe."

"He told me that the last time he saw you, it seemed like you were saying goodbye."

Methos was again evasive. "It's not like I don't call."

"Yes, you call. And you even drop in, when you know I'm not going to be there."

"It would have been awkward, MacLeod. I know you forgive me for the Horsemen, but you don't understand the old ways. Could you have helped me grieve for Silas? What about Kronos? And I barely even knew Connor."

"You knew Amanda. And Richie. And I knew Cassandra."

At this Methos visibly gathered himself. "Alright, I'm sorry. After Cassandra's and Kane's quickening, I had a number of realizations. About the Prize, about you, about me. I know my rushing off felt wrong but I needed to bury Kronos alone, and then figure out the rest of what I needed to know. I realize I should have been more patient and spent some time with you, but the compulsion was strong. The idea of the Watchers fretting also put me off. I'm explaining, not making excuses – I was wrong but there were reasons."

Duncan was silently impressed – Methos had been changed by the events in Jerusalem. He kept his tone friendly to make sure there was no misunderstanding, "That sounds like what you said about the Horsemen."

"Yes, it does." There was a very long pause, "You know I haven't just made mistakes, MacLeod, I've made terrible, terrible mistakes. The kind that require real and powerful absolution. Too bad most of the people who need to give it are dead."

Methos stopped the car, "I could hardly do this 10 years ago with the Watchers everywhere." He turned to face Duncan, "You're the last one Highlander, I need you to absolve me on behalf of all of us."

Duncan was sharply taken aback, "Methos, I . . ."

"I'm not asking you because I think you're perfectly pure, you idiot, I'm asking because who you are means it would mean something if you did it."

"And who absolves me?"

"The Watchers already have, on behalf of all humanity."

"Come on, Methos."

"I'm entirely serious, MacLeod. They didn't even fully trust your kinsmen, not considering the stakes. You were the only one that they were willing to let have the Prize, or at least the only one who had a chance to claim it. If it hadn't been for you, they would have slaughtered us all the moment we were in the same place." Duncan was startled – Methos was very probably right. "Why do you think they keep rehabilitating you no matter how many times you rush in where angels fear to tread?"

Duncan practically threw himself back in his car seat. After a while, he began to rub his forehead. "Even if you're right, Methos, that doesn't make me the one to forgive you."

"Who else can? Who else can possibly understand? In the Watchers' minds, you're the good one and I'm the bad one. And they're right. But it's the bad one who requires the forgiveness, who needs it as well as punishment in order to move beyond his past."

"Do you really feel you need absolution?"

"Yes, without question."

"How . . . is there something special you'd want me to do?"

"Whatever you feel is right, but in any case wait a bit until we get to where we're going."

"OK." Duncan was quiet for a time, "Not to be selfish, but are you going to share with me some of what you've remembered?"

"Absolutely, even if you choose not to forgive me."

Silence fell on the two for the remainder of the trip. They drove for some hours, as Methos took pains to avoid their undoubtedly miffed pursuers. It was mid-afternoon when the real old guy finally stopped the car, "We're here."

Note: Next chapter is the end, an oddball one but powerful (I hope). As noted, I thought of it when they first introduced Methos. I again invite all to elaborate on any part or character they like or end the story in a different manner as a "Better Thee Than Me" AU. All closing comments on this version welcome.


	38. The Circle

Part 37 The Circle

"We're here."

"There's nothing around." Duncan's tone was mild.

Methos sighed, "Things were different back then, obviously. Even the geography was very different. Appearances aside, this is where it all started. Here is why I've lived all these years, though I couldn't remember it for most of them." Methos seemed to be considering how much to say, "In a sense, this is where I was born."

Duncan was suddenly rapt, "In a sense?"

"I didn't have the whole thing even with Kane's quickening. But I had a series of recalled memories; that's the main reason I left Jerusalem so quickly. When I found the various places of my origin, in a certain way the places of all our origins, the rest became clear. Who I am, my family -- I know now what has to be done."

"That sounds a little ominous, Methos." Duncan did another double-take, "Did you say your family?"

"Yes."

Duncan stared and refused to stop staring. Methos eventually continued, story-telling in his way that Duncan knew well, "There are all these legends that some people seven thousand years ago lived a lot longer than people do now. Doesn't fit with people living much longer now than they did one thousand years ago."

Duncan was not surprised at the strange response – it was hardly the first time Methos started an explanation by seeming to wander off the topic. He was also curious as to why the old man was refusing to look at him. So he listened, waiting.

"But the legends are true. Oh, most people did die very young of starvation or plague or infection or war but those that were sheltered, or just lucky, could easily live five or six centuries or more."

"Are you saying they were immortals?"

Methos shook his head. "Something like immortals, maybe; I'm not entirely certain. I am certain those stories of long life for some in the past are not fables and immortals are tied to those stories."

"Then, what happened?"

"Told you I'm not entirely sure. Maybe those long-lived people split into mortals and immortals, breeding us on one side and shorter-lived mortals on the other? I do know my family was very long-lived."

Methos paused and, for the first time that he could recall Duncan saw a look of genuine wonder on the ancient's face. "Because each generation had lived for centuries before I came along, they could tell me many incredible, truly incredible things about the past, about the start of civilization. They also said I was not simply a child, but they never mentioned me as a foundling or anything of the sort. Quite the opposite. I knew my parents -- my real parents -- and my grandparents and my great-grandparents. When I came of age, my family told me what they believed my destiny to be, based on who they knew I was." Methos' tone became sardonic. "It made perfect sense to them, though none at all to me at the time. It doesn't even make that much sense to me now. Unfortunately, I had discovered quickenings and such and was distracted."

"Like a boy who's discovered girls."

"I suppose so, but the distraction lasted much longer. When I finally could focus on something other than being an immortal, they had all died. They lived for centuries, MacLeod, and I still couldn't get around to asking them what the hell was going on."

Duncan checked his intense curiousity further in the face of Methos' passion. He had heard self-recrimination from the real old guy before, of course, but recognized grief in there as well, grief for a family Methos had forgotten for untold centuries but now remembered in life and death.

"Having no idea what to do, I tried to honor them by surviving, by living long enough to fulfill the destiny they believed was mine even though I didn't understand it. And we know I'm extremely good at surviving. I could do whatever it took, no matter how painful or ugly. I wasn't nearly as good at remembering. After a while, the things I had to do, chose to do, the thousands of people I killed, allowed to be killed, saw suffer and die, or just left behind – it was too much. I started forgetting. Started trying to forget. Drinking, other substances. More than a few times I smashed myself in the head to induce amnesia. Not so easy to pull off when you can heal and are terrified of neck injuries."

Duncan put his hand very lightly on his friend's shoulder. "I've learned a lot from you, Methos, before and during the Gathering. But I accept that I can't fathom how lonely you must have been. It was wrong to judge you so quickly about the Horsemen."

"You were only partly wrong. I was alone, but it was because I wanted to be. I wanted to forget my responsibilities. Yes, the legacy, my lost family, and all that time were a great weight to bear. But if I had done the right thing and fought Kronos and Caspian instead of banding with them, their quickenings would have helped me remember some of this much earlier. It would have changed things, a lot of things."

Methos was still looking away, "I avoided taking strong quickenings because I didn't want to remember and did it so well I forgot why I was avoiding them in the first place. I forgot or didn't want to believe in the real reason for the Gathering. Both, actually. If I had remembered, tens of thousands of people would have lived instead of died. I have killed without cause and any punishment is deserved."

"You're not getting it, old man." Duncan drew in his breath, "I knew all that. I also know what you've become. And now I know a little bit about what you were like at the beginning. But it's still not nearly enough to judge, to condemn or absolve. 5000 years, it's beyond me. Far beyond. It may be beyond anyone. In the brief time since we've met, you've saved my life more than once and helped a lot of people, even if you don't like anyone noticing. You wanted it be my decision – that's what matters to me."

Methos turned to face him, finally. Very slowly, a smile spread over the ancient face. He cocked his head slightly, "Actually, it's more than 5000." Then, making clear this wasn't just his typical snideness, Methos reached out and guided Duncan into the ancient cross-arms salute he had last shared with Kronos in a bar in Jerusalem a decade ago. They held each other's gaze in silence for more than a few moments before Methos stepped back and straightened.

"We're the last two of our line, Duncan. Brothers now, true brothers. As it has to be. And you're as good and decent as any immortal I've ever known. It honors me to be your brother."

He halted and tears began to fill his eyes. Duncan grew puzzled again, not least because Methos had used his actual name. "But it's supposed to be this way. It must be this way. If I don't do this, you may never even be born. Perhaps none of us will."

"Forgive me, my brother."

In one smooth, practiced motion Methos retrieved the sword so carefully hidden and strapped to his back to behead his last brother, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. There was only the moment of confusion on the Highlander's face before he died. No fear, no hatred, and no pain -- just as the first time.

Methos watched his last brother's blood spill into the earth. All his sisters and brothers, close and distant, were dead and their quickenings resided with him. It was as in the beginning. The lightning began to pulverize everything in sight, belatedly alerting the frantic watchers, and Methos claimed the Prize. His birthright, his obligation, his curse.

The world transformed, as he had come to believe it would, and he stood over the body of another man. The first brother, from a life lost long, long ago in an age when the world was unrecognizably different. He had killed him, and yet it was someone else who had done so. Words were Spoken to the other and to him by One who Knew them both.

[["'What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood cries out to Me from the ground! Therefore you are Cursed more than the ground, which opened wide its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand. When you work the ground, it Shall no longer yield its strength to you. You Shall become a vagrant and a wanderer on earth.'

And G-d Placed a Mark upon Cain, so none that meet him might kill him. Cain left the Presence of G-d and settled in the land of Nod, east of Eden. Cain knew his wife and she conceived and bore Enoch. He became a city-builder, and he named the city after his son Enoch. To Enoch was born Irad, and Irad begot Mehujael, and Mehujael begot Methushael."))

As the centuries came and passed, Methushael found his name unwieldy and confusing. He adopted a shorter form – Methos.

END


	39. Anticlimactic postscript

Anticlimactic Postscript:

If you want my explanation of the ending, read on. Otherwise, STOP HERE.

Cain was the first immortal. He held all the quickenings in one body. The line about a mark so that none may kill him is Biblical, not mine.

Then think of a recessive trait appearing in full only sometimes and growing weaker as the centuries went on. So Cain's children and grand-children were either immortal or part-immortal but both the relative frequency of immortals and the length of life of those who didn't breed as full immortals lessened as compared with the previous generation. It also became progressively harder for pure-bred/in-bred immortals to have children and, after a dozen generations or so, it began to be thought that they couldn't do so at all.

Cain was also the great-great-grandfather of Methos-Methushael. When Methos was born, his (long-lived) family recognized the Mark of Cain on him. A killer and a wanderer on earth.

The Game turns out to be Methos gathering all the quickenings into one body again. To do that, he had to kill his brother and sister immortals over and over, ultimately his brother Duncan. At that point, he becomes one with Cain and returns to the time when Cain killed his brother Abel, starting it all. And the circle is complete.

(The circle is meant to imply that the same world exists as before. Methos is traveling in a circle. He kills his brothers and sisters but, by completing the circle, he also enables them to come into being in the first place.)


End file.
